


I Will Roam if You Say Roam

by Lavellington



Series: I Always End Up Where I Need to Be [2]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Again, M/M, and emotional neuroses, and guns, bi Todd, demi dirk, detect your emotions, dirk and todd go to london, emotionally repressed losers in love, fLUFF CITY, gay Dirk, in an aeroplane made of love, lowkey anxiety and depression, mostly handholding not gonna lie, sex and handholding, some boys kissing, some mild violence, very mild fear of flying, you're in love guys figure it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 72,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9817499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavellington/pseuds/Lavellington
Summary: "My old landlord wrote to me yesterday, and apparently I need to go and pick up my things or he'll throw them in a skip.""A what?" Todd asks, sitting down heavily on the sofa.*Dirk and Todd go to London.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back! For more bffs who are too insecure to cuddle without pretence.
> 
> There is an extremely mild fear of flying mentioned here. Also the usual anxiety and self-esteem issues, but there's some sappiness to balance it out, and plenty more where THAT came from. Also there is a bit where Dirk is upset by someone calling him by his old name.
> 
> Sequel to Electric Ghost Rhino. Title from You're My Only Home, by The Magnetic Fields.

Accustomed as he is to following the whims of the universe, Dirk has never been very good with practicalities. Mundane tasks such as paying bills, doing laundry, and eating vegetables have often fallen by the wayside in his past. His driving has been called "a terrifying journey to the brink of human mortality". He has killed many plants. However, he thinks impulsively moving to Seattle with three jackets, an armful of shirts and a squeezy clown toy is probably a personal best in the reckless idiot department.

The consequences of this action don't really hit him until he receives an email from his former landlord in London that could kindly be described as "brusque". He gathers that the "Gone to America–will most likely return" sign he left on the door of his flat was not considered sufficient notice for abandoning his lease, and if he doesn't reappear within the next week, his remaining possessions will be dumped on the street for whatever scavengers may have some use for them. Additionally, his landlord hopes that he, Dirk, has found some suitable accommodation in America or whatever godforsaken place he is currently infesting, because he, the landlord, has no intention of accepting Dirk as a tenant once more, even if he, Dirk, were to get on his knees and beg. Where on earth, his landlord furthermore wishes to know, did Dirk acquire so many versions of the same terrible jacket, and what is that suspicious stain in the southernmost corner of the ceiling?

At this point Dirk decides it would be counterproductive to continue reading, and skips straight ahead to writing a cheerful, winning reply in which he informs his landlord that he will be back to pick up his things inside of a week, that he then has every intention of returning to live in America indefinitely, and that to the trained observer his jackets are all completely unique, thank you, and simply signify a strong, cohesive sense of style. He avoids the tricky question of his mysteriously stained ceiling, as he doesn't believe the explanation will improve anyone's mood. He hopes his landlord is well, and that his wife, all of his cats, and his children are in good health.

After he sends the email, he sits for a while, pondering his next course of action. He can afford the flights easily, and it will be nice to have the rest of his things back, but he's not particularly enthused about the idea of returning to England. Maybe leaving the country, even for a few short days, will disturb the tentative equilibrium he has reached with Todd of late. Maybe Todd will realise how much he likes having his flat all to himself again. Maybe he will realise that his life without Dirk is much less likely to involve kidnapping and ruined possessions. Maybe Dirk will return to Seattle with the rest of his things to find that Todd has changed the locks (again) and gone on the road with an American punk band.

He must be broadcasting his conflicted thoughts, because when Todd emerges from the kitchen with his morning coffee, he pauses, raises his eyebrows and says, "... What?"

Dirk really must get better at controlling his facial expressions.

"I have to go back to England," he announces.

Todd's eyes widen.

"Like... permanently?"

"No, no," Dirk assures him, and tries not to smile too obviously when Todd relaxes slightly, glaring at him.

"My old landlord wrote to me yesterday, and apparently I need to go and pick up my things or he'll throw them in a skip."

"A what?" Todd asks, sitting down heavily on the sofa.

"He'll throw them away," Dirk clarifies.

"Wait, you didn't bring any of your stuff with you?" Todd is extremely slow before he's had his coffee. Dirk has made a note of this before.

"No," he says, patiently. "I wasn't exactly planning to move here permanently when I came over for the Patrick Spring case."

"And it's just occurring to you now that your landlord wouldn't store it for you forever?"

Dirk shrugs.

"I didn't think about it much, to be honest. I suppose I should go and clear it out. There are a few things I would like to have, if I'm to live here indefinitely."

He pauses.

"I mean... in Seattle. Here, in Seattle. Indefinitely."

Todd drinks his coffee and says nothing.

"Anyway," Dirk says, recovering smoothly, "I suppose I should go tomorrow."

" _Tomorrow_?" Todd says. "To _England_?"

"Well, yes," Dirk says, already looking up flights. "He says I have until the end of the week and then he's fumigating the place–"

" _Fumigating_?" Todd says.

"Are you planning on repeating everything I say in that flabbergasted tone? I ask merely for information."

"No," Todd says, "it's just..."

Dirk waits patiently. Todd flounders for a few more seconds and then takes a large gulp of coffee. Dirk goes back to the computer.

"It's just... sudden," Todd says, after a minute. Dirk looks up again.

"Won't it be expensive? Last minute transatlantic flights?"

"I have money," Dirk says, selecting Heathrow from the dropdown menu.

"Oh yeah?" Todd asks, faintly amused. "How much do you have?"

"None of your business," Dirk says, primly.

"Hmmm," Todd says, drinking more coffee.

There's silence for a few minutes as Todd moves slowly into the land of the caffeinated and Dirk tries to navigate the airline website–second in unpleasantness only to navigating an actual airport.

"I don't have much money," Todd says, suddenly.

Dirk looks up, eyebrows raised.

"Oh," he says, nonplussed. "I thought those shirts were an aesthetic choice."

Todd makes his _that's not very funny_ face and says, "I just mean... I would come with you, if I... you'll probably need help with all your stuff. And everything."

He stops again. Dirk waits some more and then says, "It's alright. I'm sure I can manage. Unless. Unless you want to come? I could pay for the flights. If you wanted to."

Todd looks up at him.

"Do you want me to come?"

Of _course_ Dirk wants him to come. Everything is better when Todd is there. Even talking about Blackwing loses some of its painful edge when Todd is sitting opposite him, doing his _listening attentively_ face, like Todd is the filter through which things grow brighter and cleaner and better. Dirk wants to show Todd his old flat. He wants to take him to his favourite bakery and surreptitiously watch him eat a scone. He wants to show Todd his old primary school, point out where he'd scratched his name into the desk. He wants to _tell_ Todd his name. His old one. He wants to show Todd literally everything he has ever done and ever will do, because anything else seems like a waste.

He has just enough sense to not say any of this out loud.

"Yes, of course I do, if you want to," he says. "It is quite a long flight–"

"Okay," Todd says.

"Okay," Dirk says, beaming at him. Todd smiles a little into his coffee.

He looks back at the computer and changes "number of passengers" to two.

Okay.

*

Todd is entirely unsurprised that navigating an airport with Dirk in tow is a completely hellish experience. He's not _happy_ about it. But he's not surprised. Going through security, Dirk, hopping on one foot while trying to remove his left shoe, asks the security team for stories about "the most interesting thing they've found in an orifice". In the gift shop, he insists on buying a souvenir of Washington for his landlord, "to apologize for the inconvenience", and against Todd's express recommendation, purchases a ridiculously ugly mug with a handle shaped like the Space Needle. Todd manages to usher him out of the store and into a nearby café before he can buy gifts for the landlord's wife, their two kids, and each of their four cats. To top off Todd's morning, over breakfast Dirk spends several minutes speculating loudly about the most likely cause of their own hypothetical plane crash–a prospect which he seems to find more enthralling than terrifying–blithely unaware of Todd's increasingly white-knuckled grip on his coffee mug.

"Could you–" Todd takes a deep breath. "Could you stop? Maybe?"

Dirk pauses, taking in Todd's face and his death grip on his coffee, and says, "Oh!"

He leans forward, looking contrite.

"I'm sorry, Todd. I didn't know you were scared of flying."

"I'm not scared of flying!" Todd says, trying to keep his voice level and failing somewhere around the word "flying". He coughs. "I just don't want to hear about all the hypothetical ways we could die in the very near future. That's _normal_ , Dirk. That is reasonable."

"Of _course_ it is," Dirk says, in a tone of exaggerated sympathy. "Just a healthy sense of respect for the laws of gravity."

"Shut up," Todd says, for the seven billionth time of their acquaintance. Dirk keeps talking.

"It's really nothing to be ashamed of. If there's anything I can do to help... I could tell you about some of my past cases!"

"You do that anyway," Todd points out.

"Well, yes, but I could do it _soothingly_."

"I hate you."

"Whatever keeps you sane," Dirk says, smiling at him in that ridiculously bright way he has, and Todd weirdly feels a little better.

There's a bad moment going through passport control, when the woman behind the desk hands Dirk his passport back and says, "Thank you, Mr Cjelli, have a pleasant flight."

Dirk stiffens all over and gives her a wooden smile, carefully not looking at Todd. Todd had seen Dirk's old name written down during the whole Blackwing fiasco, but he'd never mentioned it. Dirk doesn't go by it anymore, and they're doing an excellent job not talking about, or ideally even thinking about, anything related to Blackwing or the CIA. Now he wishes he knew how to bring it up, if only to assure Dirk that it's not an issue. Not for him. They sit down in the waiting area, watching the planes outside and the loud children inside, running around with their arms outstretched yelling, "whooosh!"

There's silence for a few minutes and then Todd says, "What made you decide on Gently, anyway?"

Dirk looks at him, startled, and Todd continues to look out the window like none of this is any kind of big deal.

"I mean, detectives want to sound tough, right? Why not...Dirk Roughly?" He feels his face heating up and coughs. "Or. Something like that."

"I'm a _holistic_ detective, Todd," Dirk says, with a poor imitation of his usual enthusiasm. "I don't go around the place beating people up and shooting at them. There's a certain amount of finesse involved."

"Dirk...Smartly," Todd says.

"Hmmm. Sounds like I'm a tailor."

"Or a math teacher."

"I rather like the idea of suiting my name to my profession," Dirk says, and thank God, he's smiling again. "Dirk Softly: Haberdasher."

"Dirk Smoothly," Todd says, "Dating Advisor."

"Dirk Firmly, Personal Trainer."

"Dirk Calmly, Yoga Instructor."

"Todd Yachtsman, Boating Enthusiast."

"No. We're not doing me."

On the plane, Dirk falls asleep on Todd's shoulder about fifteen minutes into the ten hour flight, snuffling and muttering into Todd's shirt. Dirk's sleep talking has been a source of endless amusement to him for the last couple of months, but he feels strangely protective of it now. He doesn't want a plane full of people to hear Dirk saying things like, "The lamp needs a good home", or "Well obviously not _exclusively_ potatoes". They won't get it. Todd doesn't always get it either, but at least he has some context.

Dirk spends most of the flight in this position, waking up once to eat, apologizing for appropriating Todd's shoulder, and then immediately falling asleep on top of him again once he's finished his meal.

Todd manages to doze for a while, but is mostly hyped up on caffeine and anxiety, a familiar if irritating cocktail. He wonders what Dirk's old place is like. He wonders if Dirk met clients there, or if he had an office. Dirk hasn't brought up getting an office in Seattle yet, or mentioned Farah's backing offer again. He hasn't even tried to find a case. Todd supposes Dirk usually waits for the universe to _bring_ him a case, but he has wondered why Dirk doesn't seem a little more antsy. In the back of his mind, he can't help wondering if Dirk just hasn't really committed to staying in Seattle yet. Maybe this whole thing has been an extended vacation for him.

Half of Todd's brain is arguing that of _course_ Dirk wants to stay. He's spent the last two months living in Todd's apartment, buying him new kitchen appliances and cooking him terrible food, and saying things like, "I fancy a film tonight–maybe we could watch the new Star War?" Dirk likes him. He wants to be convinced of that. Dirk sleeps next to him and stays up talking to him after he's had nightmares. Dirk stops him before they leave the apartment to make sure he has his meds, and asks him if he's eaten enough vegetables that week, even though Dirk wouldn't know a carrot if it bit him on the ass. Dirk wants to be with him. Or. To live with him. To hang out with him. In his apartment.

The other part of Todd's brain, the part that kicks into high gear whenever anyone says anything particularly aggressive or anything a little too nice, has a different opinion. Why _would_ Dirk want to stay in Seattle? He's not from there. It's not the safest place for him to be, probably. From what Todd gathers, Dirk spent fifteen years in England, completely unbothered by psychotic CIA agents, and the week he stepped foot on American soil, he was kidnapped and experimented on. It's arrogance of the highest order to believe that Dirk would really want to uproot his entire life and risk his safety for a guy he's known for two months, and who spent the first week of their acquaintance mostly yelling at him.

Todd is painfully aware that he invited himself on this trip because he hasn't spent more than a couple of hours away from Dirk since that first night after Blackwing when Dirk snuck into his apartment to nap on his couch. The thought of sleeping alone for three, or possibly four, nights, is scarier than it has any right to be for a grown man who up until recently had no roommate and a pretty sparse social life. But he's afraid anyway.

When it comes down to it, Todd is afraid that Dirk will see his old place, and he won't want to leave.

Dirk doesn't wake again until a voice comes over the speakers to inform them that they are beginning their descent into London. He rubs his eyes, and leans unceremoniously across Todd to look out the window.

"I think you're going to like London," he says, settling back into his seat and smiling at Todd. "It rains a lot, and everyone is very unfriendly."

Todd tries not to look amused, but Dirk is grinning at him, looking like a friend, looking like someone who is glad to have Todd nearby, like someone who is making fun of him with affection and without malice, and Todd cracks and smiles back, just a little.

"I'm not following your logic, here," he says, trying and failing to salvage his glare.

Dirk shrugs, still smiling. "I suppose it's just a hunch." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, Dirk thinks, maybe he hadn't left his flat in the best condition, but really, there's no need for Todd to be so melodramatic about it.
> 
> "Holy shit," Todd says, in what appears to be a fifty-fifty blend of awe and disgust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to change up the format slightly for this fic (apart from the opening chapter) so that the POV alternates with each chapter. Here is some Dirk for you all. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> This is unbeated and it's two in the morning, so...let me know if I've made any particularly horrifying errors.
> 
> CW for allusions to depression and for an extremely silly death threat.

The sight of his old building very nearly makes Dirk quite emotional, which is silly, since he only left a few months ago. Still, it's strange to watch Todd co-existing with his old life, plaid against red brick. He's so focused on this juxtaposition that it takes him a few moments to notice that Todd is watching him expectantly. Right. At some point he should probably stop watching Todd exist and unlock the door.

"Sorry," he says, smiling sheepishly. "It's just odd. Seeing you here. Worlds colliding, and all that."

"What's it like?" Todd asks. "Being back?"

"Sort of vaguely bizarre," Dirk says. "I haven't really been gone for that long, but so much has happened. I feel quite...different."

"Well, sure," Todd says. "If I could go back in time and show myself from a few months ago what my life looks like now–which, by the way, I now know is a _plausible scenario_ –well, I wouldn't believe it."

"Me neither," Dirk says, turning his key in the door and surreptitiously patting the ugly red paint.

"I thought you were used to all this weird stuff happening to you," Todd says, following him up the narrow staircase.

"That's not exactly the part I meant," Dirk says, swinging the inside door open.

"What did you–" Todd says, and then stops as if he has run into a verbal, and physical, wall.

Alright, Dirk thinks, maybe he hadn't left his flat in the best condition, but really, there's no need for Todd to be so melodramatic about it.

"Holy shit," Todd says, in what appears to be a fifty-fifty blend of awe and disgust.

"Well, yes," Dirk says, picking his way across the floor and opening a much-needed window, "I can, from a certain angle, see your point–"

"Dirk, this place is a biohazard!"

"Pish," Dirk says. "A little musty, perhaps, could do with some airing–"

"Are those old pizza boxes?" Todd nudges the pile with his foot.

"Technically, yes," Dirk says, grabbing Todd's shoulders and steering him away from the boxes.

"Why is this fish tank empty?"

"My fish disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"Yes, she just up and left one day. Got sick of the place." He thinks it over. "Either that or one of the cats got her."

"Cats?" Todd asks, inching gingerly around the sofa.

"Well–" Dirk starts.

"Dirk Gently!" someone bellows from the doorway, and they both jump and look around.

"Mr Chakrabarti, hi!" Dirk says, brightly. "Long time no see–how's the family? Mrs Chakrabarti doing well, I hope?"

"You'd better get all this junk out of here, Gently," Mr Chakrabarti says, apparently unimpressed by Dirk's attempt to restart the conversation on a more affable note.

"We're in the process of doing so now," Dirk assures him. "This is my friend, Todd. He's going to help me take my things back to America."

"Hi," Todd says, maintaining a judicious sofa between himself and Dirk's landlord.

Mr Chakrabarti looks Todd up and down and snorts. "Friend, eh? A piece of advice, mate. Never loan him money, share a flat with him, or ask him to look after your pets."

"Hey!" Dirk says, feeling slightly wounded. "That cat was only temporarily missing, and when I found her again, she was only very slightly traumatised. How could I have predicted a demure tabby would go about hurling herself out of first floor windows?"

"Your lease is paid up until the end of next week," Mr Chakrabarti says, ignoring his perfectly reasonable question, "so all I ask is that you get your rubbish out of here so that I can get the place ready for a more respectable tenant."

"Consider it done," Dirk says generously. "Do you happen to have a few spare bin liners about your person?"

"There's a shop on the corner," Mr Chakrabarti says. "Be out by Thursday."

"He seems...nice," Todd says, releasing his grip on the back of the sofa as Mr Chakrabarti clatters back down the stairs.

"A very changeable man," Dirk says, "but sometimes one has to be the voice of reason. Give me a hand with this fish tank, will you?"

"Seriously, Dirk," Todd says, making, as usual, no move to assist, "you lived like this?"

Dirk looks around his room, trying to see it from Todd's point of view, and for the first time, feels a little ashamed of it. How novel.

"Well," he says, "it's not as though I entertained very often." He kicks at a stray pizza box. When he looks up, Todd is staring at him with an unusual expression.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," Todd says, looking away. "Let's go get some trash bags and do this thing."

After two solid hours of hauling the debris of Dirk's flat downstairs in black bags, Dirk decides they could use a break. It's still ridiculously early, and they are both unreasonably jittery from the transatlantic flight and unwise quantities of caffeine. Dirk anticipates a rather brutal crash in a few hours, but in the meantime he suggests they get some lunch.

Walking along Regent's canal with Todd by his side is oddly disconcerting, and rather exciting. The air is cool and bracing, with the smell of recent rain, and Dirk can't seem to stop himself from pointing out ridiculous and embarrassing things every five seconds.

"Over there," he says, "that's where I jumped in once, when I was drunk. I smelled like rancid canal water for a week."

"I'm trying to picture you drunk," Todd says, "but I think it's an image too terrifying for my brain to handle."

"I don't drink very often," Dirk admits. "I had to blend in at a local pub to spy on a client's wife. Very sordid, the whole thing, and then it turned out the wife used to be a lifeguard, and she was the one who came and fished me out. I threw up on her shoes and told her that her husband loved her. Not my most intrepid hour."

Todd is laughing so hard they have to stop for a moment, leaning on the stone wall of the bridge while he catches his breath. Dirk watches him, eyebrows raised, until he regains his composure.

"Sorry," Todd says, "sorry. Just...that is so you."

"Oh, thanks ever so much," Dirk says dryly. "Do I need to remind you of the time you dropped a dog off of a bridge?"

"Those were extenuating circumstances," Todd says, leaning his elbows on the wall and twisting to look at Dirk.

"Or the incident with the shower curtain cape..."

"At least I didn't give a mysterious lunatic my phone number."

"You gave it to me," Dirk points out.

Todd laughs again. Dirk thinks this holiday is going extremely well.

 

They stop on the way to the café to buy a newspaper, and Dirk, as is his habit, turns to the horoscope page.

"Huh," he says, stopping in his tracks and causing a miniature pile-up of pedestrians. Todd drags him to one side.

"What?" he asks, trying to read over Dirk's shoulder.

Dirk slaps the paper shut and announces, "We have to go to Brixton."

 

"Who are we going to see, exactly?" Todd asks him as they emerge from the Tube station.

"An old friend of mine," Dirk says.

"I thought you said you didn't have any friends?"

"Well, I don't," Dirk says, because he doesn't, apart from Todd, who hardly fits uncomplicatedly into the "friend" category himself. "I use the word "friend" because it's the closest thing I can think of to describe Gary. Really he's just someone I vaguely knew from university who I run into from time to time around town, and who takes great pleasure making fun of me at every opportunity."

"Making fun of you how?"

"Well, for starters, he writes horoscopes," Dirk says.

"Horoscopes?"

"Yes, for a newspaper," Dirk says, waving his folded up paper at Todd. "He knows when my birthday is, and he always writes mine deliberately to wind me up."

"When _is_ your birthday?" Todd asks.

"Oh, look," Dirk says, "we're here."

Todd opens his mouth, presumably to tell Dirk that if he thinks he can pull that one again, he has another thing coming, but closes it again when he actually takes in the house in front of them.

"What," he says, "the hell, Dirk."

"Yes," Dirk says, squinting up at the large, Gothic church conversion crammed in between two respectable, red bricked townhouses, "it's a little...conspicuous."

"It has a turret," Todd observes, also squinting, even though the sun is behind them. Dirk wonders if maybe Gary's house is so improbable that people find it difficult to look directly at it. He makes a note to ask Gary if he's noticed a disproportionate number of people standing outside his house and squinting.

"He's very theatrical," Dirk says, turning back to Todd, at whom it is no chore to look directly for any length of time. "I think he insists on living in such a ridiculous looking house because it prepares people somewhat for the sight of the resident. If Gary lived in a perfectly ordinary, boring house, people would probably have heart attacks at the sheer, unexpected sight of him. Jehovah's Witnesses and double-glazing salespersons dropping like flies on his doorstep, I shouldn't wonder. At least with this facade–" he turns, briefly, to squint at the unnecessarily dramatic windows, "–those with a low tolerance for the very peculiar simply turn tail and run before they can encounter the human peculiarity within."

"That...strangely makes sense to me," Todd says. "Kind of like your jackets."

"What about my jackets?" Dirk says, preparing to be very offended.

"Well, they're kind of like a visual primer for your personality," Todd says, lips twitching.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," Dirk says, "but I choose to take it as a compliment."

"What a surprise," Todd mutters, perfectly audibly, as he follows Dirk up the paved garden path. Dirk ignores him in favour of pulling the large, ornate doorbell.

"Seriously?" Todd asks, as they hear the sonorous peal of the bell resounding inside the house.

The door swings open to reveal Madison, Gary's ancient butler, standing there in a moth-eaten suit he has most likely owned since The Silver Jubilee.

"Come on, _seriously_?" Todd says from behind him. Dirk blindly elbows him.

"Good afternoon, Madison," he says, offering his friendliest smile.

"Afternoon, Mr Gently," Madison says, not moving.

"Er," Dirk says, after about thirty seconds of this placid nonaction. "Is Gary–is Mr Roberts at home? We'd like to speak to him."

Madison blinks in his general direction a couple of times before managing to focus on his face, and then turns slowly around and walks back into the house, leaving the door open behind him.

"Right," Dirk says. "Good, yes."

He walks inside, Todd following him, and closes the heavy door.

"I'm sure he's just–" he gestures after Madison, "–gone to fetch him."

"Uh-huh," Todd says, looking around the dusty foyer with a distinct lack of optimism. This attitude proves to be well-founded a moment later when Gary sweeps down the stairs, looking as decrepitly opulent as ever. He's almost a foot taller than Dirk, and positively towers over Todd, his bald head catching the sunlight in a distracting manner. He's wearing a long, purple robe, Doc Martens, and a faded denim jacket, and has a large falcon perched on his left shoulder. He has an elaborate tattoo that depicts constellations stretching over the top of his head, extending down almost to the top of his nose.

"Dirk!" he says, grabbing Dirk's hand and shaking it warmly. "Always a pleasure. How's the holographic detective business?"

"Holistic," Dirk says, wincing as his bones squeak together in Gary's grip. "Good, thanks. This is my assistant, Todd Brotzman."

"Hi," Todd says, craning his neck to look into Gary's face, apparently too startled to even correct his job title. "Um. I like your...bird."

"Oh," Gary says, glancing at the falcon perched on his shoulder as if he'd forgotten she was there, "thank you, Todd. Do you know, that's the second most common thing people say when they encounter me?"

"What's the most common?" Todd asks obligingly, and Dirk rolls his eyes.

"Where's my fucking money," Gary says placidly. "A much less effective conversation opener, in my opinion, but people will preoccupy themselves with such mundane trivialities."

"Yes, we're actually here about something quite specific," Dirk says, wrestling the conversation back on track. He's always thought he and Gary were kindred spirits in many ways, but he doesn't really have time to mull over personal philosophy right now.

"Oh?" Gary says, politely curious. He strokes the bird on his shoulder idly.

"Yes," Dirk says. "It's about my horoscope."

Gary grins. "Rather a good one today, don't you think?"

"Well," Dirk says, "it's unusual, even for you. Normally it's just things like, _You will have a characteristically humiliating social encounter_ , or _You will reach soaring new heights of sartorial ineptitude_ –"

"Unfailingly accurate," Gary says, and Todd snorts.

"But today," Dirk ploughs on, "out of nowhere, _You will be stalked by the ghost of an angry musician_."

He looks at Gary hopefully. "Any chance of some further elaboration?"

"That's not how it works, Dirk," Gary says, admonishingly. "The stars give me indications of things to come, but they don't provide me with an instruction manual. You must interpret the insights offered to you in your own way."

"What about the time it just said, _Today you will be hit by a red Fiat Punto_?" Dirk asks.

"Some days," Gary says, loftily, "the stars are more specific than others."

"Did you?" Todd asks. "Get hit by a red Fiat Punto?"

"It was actually more of a burgundy," Dirk says. "It hurt," he adds. "A lot."

"Glad to have been of service," Gary says benevolently, and Dirk sighs.

"That was unhelpful," Todd observes, once they're back out on the pavement, having politely declined Gary's offer of tea. They would have been waiting a geologic age for Madison to brew the stuff, and knowing Gary, it would have undoubtedly had some psychedelic properties which would have most likely hampered their investigations.

"Extremely," Dirk says, throwing his newspaper in the bin. "But we mustn't lose hope!"

He rubs his hands together briskly, hoping this will help to kick start his brain.

"The Great Zaganza," Todd reads from the business card Gary had given to him. "Your Future, While You Wait."

"Yes," Dirk says peering over his shoulder, "he was always changing his name to silly and outlandish things."

"Imagine that," Todd says. Dirk ignores him.

"Come on, Todd!" he says, setting off back in the direction of the Tube station with renewed enthusiasm. "I do believe we're on a case!"

"Uh, okay," Todd says, jogging to catch up with him. "So what do we do now?"

"Now," Dirk says decisively, "we go for tea."

 

They eventually make it to Annette's, Dirk's favourite café, just as the lunch rush is dying down. Dirk orders a pot of tea and a sticky bun, and Todd, as usual, asks for a black coffee. They sit in the window, and Dirk relaxes into the shabby chair, watching the people pushing and shoving each other as they struggle by outside. There are some parts of London he really will miss.

"You know a lot of really alarming people," Todd observes, presumably apropos of Gary. He winces slightly at the bitterness of his coffee. Dirk passes him the sugar.

"Yes," he says, "I suppose so. Maybe because people typically find me rather alarming myself. I need to start at a higher level of alarmingness than my own personal baseline, or people simply run for the hills."

"Do you think I'm alarming?" Todd asks, cocking his head.

Dirk smiles at him.

"Only occasionally."

"Dirk!" someone behind him calls.

He swivels towards the voice, registering with some surprise it doesn't sound either angry or resigned to see him, and then recognises its source.

"Cathy," he says, swallowing his pastry crumbs and half-choking. "Hi! Look," he says, turning back to Todd, "it's Cathy!"

Todd's eyebrows do something confusing.

"I haven't seen you in ages," Cathy says, beaming. She pulls up a chair at their table and plonks herself down. "Ugh, my feet are killing me."

"Cathy," a slight, uncertain man behind the till says faintly.

"In a minute," Cathy says, waving over her shoulder at the man. "My manager," she says to Dirk and Todd. "Real tyrant. I've only had three breaks today, if you can believe it. I'm practically dead on my feet. I'm Cathy," she adds, offering her hand to Todd.

"Todd," he says, taking it, looking almost as bemused as Cathy's manager. "I'm a friend of Dirk's."

"I thought you didn't have any friends?" she says, turning to Dirk.

"Oh, I do now!" Dirk says. "Not very many, but they're all of exceptionally high quality. I've moved to America."

"Really? That's a relief. When I didn't see you in here a single Thursday for the last three months, I thought maybe you'd met a gruesome end."

"Nope," Dirk says. "Still ticking. How are you?"

"Fine, fine," Cathy says, stealing a bit of his sticky bun. "I almost got married last month, but I decided I'd rather not. I got a ficus instead."

"A... a ficus?" Todd asks.

Cathy looks at him like maybe he's a little slow, and says, helpfully, "It's a _plant_. Takes up less space than your average spouse, and requires less emotional labour."

"A wise choice," Dirk says, nodding and eating more of his bun. "Oxygenates the room too, I bet. Humans just spew carbon dioxide everywhere."

"That's a good point," Cathy says, chewing thoughtfully. "And it never borrows my clothes. Not so far, anyway. Oh, by the way, we had someone in here looking for you the other day."

"Really?" Dirk says, warily. "Were they American, and/or dressed all in black, and/or heavily armed?"

"No," Cathy says. "He was Northern, it sounded like. Wearing jeans, carrying a guitar case."

"Huh," Dirk says. "Was he see-through at all?"

"Not that I noticed," Cathy says. "He seemed a little annoyed at you though. Not your biggest fan, I'd say."

"That doesn't really narrow it down," Todd says.

"Yes," Dirk says, " _Todd's_ my biggest fan, and obviously it couldn't have been him."

Todd chokes on his coffee. Dirk smiles sunnily at him.

"See," he says, when Cathy has wandered back to the till to do something vaguely resembling work, "not everyone I know is alarming."

"She was terrifying," Todd says, laughing.

"Oh," Dirk says. "Never mind, then."

It's only seven when they get back to Dirk's flat, but at this point it's starting to hit him that they left Todd's flat almost twenty four hours ago. He totters a little as he pulls out his keys, and Todd grabs his elbow, steadying him. "Whoa," he says. "You okay?"

"Perfectly fine," Dirk yawns, "thank you, Todd."

"Okay," Todd says, taking Dirk's keys and shoving his shopping into Dirk's arms. He had insisted on stopping to buy more cleaning supplies as well as new sheets for Dirk's bed, which Dirk thinks was excessive. It's not as though Todd was a paragon of cleanliness even before his apartment was ripped apart by vampires.

He blinks a couple of times as he mounts the stairs, and suddenly he is standing inside his flat without being entirely sure how he got there, Todd's hand still on his elbow.

"Dirk," Todd says, "I'm gonna change the sheets. Do you think you can get changed and brush your teeth without passing out?"

Dirk makes a vaguely affirmative noise and takes his bag into the bathroom. When he re-emerges, the bed has been changed, and looks very clean and inviting. Dirk blinks and looks around. He hadn't noticed earlier just how much rubbish they had managed to clean out, but the place looks almost habitable. Todd has changed into his pyjamas as well, and is standing near the door, looking at a piece of paper. Dirk is entirely prepared to go and faceplant on the bed when Todd says, "Dirk," in a tone of voice that sets his teeth on edge and wakes him up appreciably.

"What is it?" he says, moving to look at the paper Todd is holding. It must have been shoved under the door when they came in, he realises. It's an A4 foolscap page, and scrawled on it in red marker are the words, "YOU'RE GOING TO DIE GENTLY".

"Do you think they left that comma out on purpose?" he asks, after rather a tense pause. "If so, that's one of the nicer death threats I've ever received."

"Dirk," Todd says, his eyebrows drawing together in a very _Todd_ expression of anxiety. "Take this seriously."

"I'll take it seriously in the morning," Dirk promises him. "We're in no condition to fight any guitar playing ghosts until we get some sleep."

Todd turns to look at him, and Dirk wonders if it's a trick of the light that Todd's eyes look much more blue when he is worried. The fact that Todd is worried about him is a marvel in itself: a wonderful and terrible thing.

"I'm sorry," he says, suddenly, the brief burst of adrenaline ebbing as he sways slightly on his feet.

"Shut up," Todd sighs, letting the paper flutter to the ground and steering Dirk towards the bed. He turns the lights out, and Dirk gets comfortable.

"Did you like London?" he asks, his face half-buried in the pillow. He's asleep before Todd can answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at the [beautiful art](http://zhivchik.tumblr.com/post/157612915501/i-will-roam-if-you-say-roam-by-lavellington-wip) zhivchik did for this chapter! :')


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You," Todd says, "are the weirdest optimist I have ever met."
> 
> "Well," Dirk says, "you are the nicest pessimist I have ever had the pleasure of encountering."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, folks! 
> 
> CW for some violence and nasty people with guns. Nothing worse than the battering our poor boys take in the show.

Todd wakes up feeling disoriented. He knows he's somewhere that's not his apartment, but he can't immediately place the cream-colored walls, the dirty beige carpet, or the cheap-looking bedside table. He rolls over, sees Dirk sleeping next to him, and relaxes. Right. He's in England. With Dirk. He turns his head, looking around Dirk's apartment. 

God, even with all the trash and dirty laundry cleaned up, this place is a dump. His conscience kicks into life unexpectedly as he remembers Dirk standing outside the hospital that day, looking washed out and disconcertingly normal in a grey hoodie, saying softly, _Oh well. Here I am again_. Dirk solved the case, risked his life, and got shot _twice_ , and he was standing there, already resigned to coming thanklessly back to this depressing apartment, alone, probably to order pizza. Maybe his landlord would have come up to yell at him, or maybe he would have gone to his favorite café to talk to his favorite waitress, but as far as Todd can tell, Dirk really doesn't have any friends here.

He looks over at Dirk. He's wearing his Mexican Funeral t-shirt, which is mostly what he sleeps in these days, and he looks pale and young against the off-white sheets. Todd looks at him, and keeps looking. He's waiting for something, he knows, but he doesn't know what. Maybe he'll know it when he finds it.

He lies there for a while, listening to the voices coming from upstairs, where Dirk has informed him his neighbor Dominique gives French lessons. The lilting words he can make out through the ceiling are comforting, and he drifts in and out of sleep for a while, Dirk warm by his side.

It's only then that he remembers the horoscopes, and Dirk's continued evasiveness on the birthday question. Ever since the end of the Patrick Spring case, Dirk has been scrupulously, annoyingly honest with him, with the exception of Todd's own birthday surprises. It's as if he wants to make sure never to make Todd mad again, which is great right up until Dirk wakes him at two in the morning to say things like, "I don't know if this counts as lying to you, but I actually _hate_ carrots", as if this confession couldn't possibly wait another minute.

The only things Dirk keeps infuriatingly silent about are his birthday, and his mysterious financial solvency. Sure, he's pretty tight-lipped about Blackwing as well, but he'll answer Todd if questioned about it directly. Todd just doesn't see the point of forcing him to relive it. But the birthday thing...well, that can't do any harm, can it? To know when his best friend's birthday is? He gets up carefully, puts on his jeans and sneakers, glances over to check that Dirk is still sleeping, and lets himself out of the apartment.

When he gets to the little cornerstore, the guy behind the counter looks at him suspiciously, probably because he saw him with Dirk already. Todd smiles weakly at him and heads for the newspapers, picking up the one he's pretty sure Dirk bought yesterday. He rifles through it until he finds the horoscope section, and is just worrying that he won't be able to guess which one is Dirk's when he sees: _Today a modern architectural landmark will knock you unconscious_. He looks at the sign. Leo. Which means... which means Dirk's birthday either took place right before he met Todd, or at some point since Todd has known him. He looks down at the paper for a while, chewing his lip, and then takes it to the register with some milk and teabags. The guy behind the counter looks pleasantly surprised when Todd pays for his purchases. Todd thanks him and jogs back to the apartment as quickly as possible, not liking the thought of Dirk waking up alone.

Dirk is still asleep when he lets himself in, but when he closes the door, Dirk stirs and sits up abruptly. Dirk sleeps like the dead, but when he wakes up, he wakes up quickly and completely. Todd, who needs at least one cup of coffee to form coherent sentences, has always found this disconcerting.

"Todd?"

"Yeah," Todd says, "it's just me. I got milk." He holds up the milk, and then casually throws the paper onto the bed. Dirk narrows his eyes, but doesn't say anything. Todd goes into the kitchen.

When he re-emerges, Dirk is reading the paper and frowning. He closes it as Todd approaches and looks up in surprise as Todd offers him a mug.

"I made tea," Todd says.

Dirk smiles like Todd handed him another buried treasure map, when actually all Todd did was make a pot of tea, a thing which Dirk has been trying to teach him how to do properly for weeks. It's a pretty simple process, honestly, but he's been pretending not to get it because he finds Dirk's endless exposition on the subject hilarious. At one point there were diagrams.

"You do know how to make tea properly," Dirk says accusingly, as soon as he takes a sip.

"Yeah. I guess my cover's blown," Todd says, sitting on the bed. Dirk smiles at him.

"That's step three," he says.

"Step three?"

"In training you to be my assistant," Dirk explains, and Todd stops his coffee mug halfway to his face and looks at him, because _really_?

"It's a five step process," Dirk continues, flipping unconcernedly through the paper. "At least five. I may need to add more as I go."

Todd tries extremely hard to figure out if he's being messed with.

"What were the first two steps?" he asks, when he makes no progress on this at all.

Dirk holds up his hand and raises one finger.

"One: convincing you of the fundamental interconnectedness of all things."

"Sure," Todd says. "That was a hard sell, at first."

"It always is," Dirk says. "People never believe you until the universe does something flashy, like sends them a winning lottery ticket, or plants a map of their building inside a secret Victorian lab–"

"Okay," Todd says, rolling his eyes and definitely not laughing. "What was step two?"

"Persuading you to be friends with me," Dirk says, still smiling like that's not the saddest thing Todd has ever heard this early in the morning. "That's the tricky one, actually." He points at Todd. "You're the first person to progress to the tea making stage of the training process."

"Good," Todd says, looking away from Dirk's face. "I don't want a bunch of past assistants trying to steal my job."

"No fear of that," Dirk says.

"What are the next two steps?" Todd asks.

Dirk grins at him mischievously.

"I'll let you know," he says, "when the time is right."

*

Dirk's in the shower when the door buzzes later, after a gruelling morning of sorting through the truly monumental pile of crap that is Dirk's apartment. Todd jumps at the noise, dropping a soapy mug into the sink. He goes to the door and picks up the battered looking handset on the wall cautiously.

"Hello?"

"Delivery for Dirk Gently," a bored voice says.

"Uh, one minute," Todd says, glancing towards the bathroom. He goes downstairs, opens the front door, and finds a bored face to go with the bored voice.

"Dirk Gently?" the guy says, sounding like he couldn't possibly care less.

"He's in the shower," Todd says. "Um, I could...?"

"Sign here, please," the guy says, looking like he's two seconds from just lying down right there on the sidewalk and giving up on the morning. Todd scrawls his name and accepts the padded brown envelope, then watches the guy trudge desolately back to his car before he goes back inside.

The envelope is addressed in black sharpie, and it's clearly the same handwriting from the crude death threat they'd found the night before. Todd paces in agitation until Dirk comes out of the bathroom, fully dressed except for his shoes and tie, his hair still damp.

"This came for you," he says, handing Dirk the envelope.

Dirk turns it over in his hands warily.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

Dirk sighs. "I suppose I must."

Inside the envelope is a non-descript black box that looks like it should contain jewelry, and inside the box is a black guitar pick with a picture of a fish with a bowtie on it. Todd stares at it.

"Huh," Dirk says blankly.

"You don't recognise it?"

"No," Dirk says. "Should I?"

"Well, it's addressed to you."

"A lot of strange things end up addressed to me," Dirk says, peering at it. "Why is the fish wearing a bowtie, do you think?"

"I don't know, Dirk. I assume this is related to your phantom musician?"

Dirk stares at him. "That's it! Todd, you're a _genius_! And Gary is really slipping."

"Um...what?"

"It's not the ghost of a musician! It's a musician _called_ Phantom! I remember him now!" Dirk wrinkles his nose. "He was terrible."

"Wait–so you _know_ him?"

"Yes! Well, sort of. We were–"

"At university together," Todd finishes for him, because it seems that's how Dirk knows most people.

"Yes!" Dirk says. "How did you know?"

Todd shrugs, just about resisting the temptation to say "Just a hunch", because Dirk probably wouldn't realise he was kidding, and would ask him a lot really intense questions about psychic energy.

"So what's his deal?" he says instead.

"Well," Dirk says, suddenly looking shifty. "He may not like me very much. There was an incident. A misunderstanding, really. All in the past. Very far in the past. Years!"

"You were friends?" Todd prompts, trying to steer Dirk towards an actual answer some time in the near future.

"Not exactly."

Todd frowns at him. "Dirk," he says, slowly. "Did you...date this guy?"

"No!" Dirk says, slicing his hand through the air emphatically. "Well. Sort of. But not really."

Todd closes his eyes and exhales through his nose.

"We went on one date, I suppose you could say." Dirk says _date_ the way a normal person might say _electric ghost rhino_ , unsure and vaguely bemused.

"Well," Todd says reasonably, "it was either a date or it wasn't."

"I think he intended it to be," Dirk admits. "But I didn't realize at first."

"You didn't realize you were on a date?"

"He asked me out for a drink after lectures!" Dirk says, practically wringing his hands. "I thought he was just being...friendly."

"Okay," Todd says, feeling like they're finally getting somewhere. "Once you realized it was a date, what happened?"

"Well, at that point I got a little nervous," Dirk says. "It's the only date I've ever been on, and I didn't even mean to. I became somewhat...flustered."

Todd is torn between laughter at Dirk's sheepish expression, morbid curiosity at what happens when Dirk Gently gets _flustered_ in a semi-romantic scenario, and a sort of distant bewilderment at the revelation that Dirk has never been on a real date.

Somehow what comes out of his mouth is, "What did you _do_?"

"I spilled my drink on him," Dirk says. "And. Set him on fire. A little."

Todd holds Dirk's earnest gaze for a full five seconds before gives in and bursts out laughing.

"Oh, God," he says, literally _crying_ with laughter. "Oh God, Dirk. You..." he dissolves into giggles again. Honest to god giggles.

Dirk looks a little insulted. "It's not funny!"

"Sorry," Todd manages, gasping. He flaps the hand that isn't clutching his stomach in Dirk's direction. "Sorry!" He hasn't laughed this hard since middle school, he's pretty sure.

Dirk's mouth twitches.

"It was only the end of his tie," he says, grinning reluctantly and fidgeting with the guitar pick. "We put it out right away. There was no serious damage."

"How did you realize it was a date, anyway?" Todd asks, straightening and wiping his eyes.

"Well," Dirk says, "we were talking about philosophy, and I was explaining to him how everything is connected–" Todd nods solemnly, "–and then suddenly he put his hand on my knee."

Todd suddenly feels a lot less amused. "He... really? That's a little... presumptuous."

Dirk looks at him weirdly. "I was 21 years old, Todd. It's not as though he grabbed my–"

"Okaaay!" Todd says, feeling unaccountably alarmed. "So he touched your knee, you set him on fire, and then what? Did you ever see him again?"

"No," Dirk says miserably. "He never made it to the tea making stage, either."

"Good," Todd says, feeling something ugly rear its head inside him. Dirk looks at him, puzzled.

"I mean... he's sending you death threats now, so obviously he wasn't good assistant material."

"Yes," Dirk says, as if he hadn't considered this viewpoint. "I suppose you're right."

"How are you so chill about this? Someone is threatening to kill you."

Dirk shrugs. "It's not the first time, and it won't be the last." He smiles at Todd. "Besides, I have you now!"

"Okay," Todd says, "well, thank you for the vote of confidence, but I'd still feel a lot better if we could work out his angle."

"Good point, Todd," Dirk says, pointing at him with both hands. "What, for instance, is the significance of the fish? And why, we must ask ourselves, the bowtie?"

"Well, yeah," Todd says. "And why does he want to kill you? It can't be because of one bad date over a decade ago."

"My horoscope today mentioned an architectural landmark," Dirk muses. "Maybe Phantom is part of some kind of _fish-obsessed_ group who have their headquarters in a famous building of some kind."

"Who also love formalwear," Todd supplies helpfully, sitting down on the edge of Dirk's bed.

"Exactly!" Dirk says, flopping down next to him. He turns towards him and puts his hand on his shoulder, as if he's afraid Todd's attention might wander.

"Maybe if we peek behind the clock face of Big Ben, we'll discover a faction of formal fish-worshippers with a sideline in musical paraphernalia."

"... right," Todd says.

"The question is, how do I fit into their agenda? I have nothing against fish _or_ formal attire, though admittedly I have little experience with either. Maybe–"

"Maybe we should get something to eat," Todd interrupts, feeling like Dirk has just about used up his _maybe_ allowance for the day. Dirk perks up instantly.

"Can we get pizza?"

"Sure," Todd says, standing up. "We can theorize after dinner."

*

"So," Todd says, watching Dirk attack his pizza like it's the will of the universe, "Are we ever going to talk about the birthday thing?"

Dirk pauses with a mouthful of pizza, and looks up at Todd guiltily. Todd, who is not above taking advantage of the circumstances, deliberately timed this conversation so that Dirk's mouth would be full and he wouldn't be able to change the subject. He presses on, "I read your horoscope, so I know your birthday was sometime in July or August. Judging from your very weird reactions every time it comes up, I'm guessing it was after we met."

Dirk swallows his pizza and says nothing, fiddling with his napkin.

"Is it that big a deal?" Todd asks. "If we're friends, shouldn't I know when your birthday is?"

Dirk's eyes widen, and Todd feels like a jerk.

"Sorry," he says, holding up his hands. "I shouldn't have said that. You don't have to...just, you got me such a great gift for my birthday, and I didn't get you anything."

Dirk is silent for a moment.

"Actually," he says, "you did give me a gift on my birthday. You just didn't know it."

Todd gives him a look that he's been honing throughout the entirety of their friendship, which he hopes conveys adequately that he has no fucking clue what Dirk is talking about.

Dirk reaches inside the collar of his shirt and pulls at the black fabric underneath so that Todd can see it. He's wearing his Mexican Funeral shirt under his button-down, Todd realizes, and a second later, the implications hit him.

"Oh," he says. "Oh God. _That_ was your birthday? Dirk, I'm sorry."

Dirk looks perplexed. "Why would you be sorry?"

"You got kidnapped by the CIA!"

"Oh, yes," Dirk says, tilting his head, "that was bad. But I also gained an assistant, and a financial backer, and received a birthday present for the first time in twenty years, so all in all it was a good day."

Todd is momentarily lost for words. He looks down at his pizza. It doesn't help. He looks back up.

"You," he says, "are the weirdest optimist I have ever met."

"Well," Dirk says, "you are the nicest pessimist I have ever had the pleasure of encountering."

*

Walking back to Dirk's place while it's just starting to get dark out, Todd looks out at the city lights reflected in the canal, and thinks London is starting to feel kind of friendly. He looks over at Dirk, who looks windswept and pink-cheeked, radiating the kind of contentment that only good pizza seems to bring out in him.

"So why didn't you want to tell me?" he asks suddenly. "About your birthday," he adds, when Dirk looks at him enquiringly.

Dirk shrugs. "I don't know, really. I just...I never really do anything for my birthday. I haven't since my mother was alive. I don't like to make a big deal out of it."

Todd takes a second to process this.

"I'm sorry we never had a party for you," he says.

Dirk does that thing where he smiles and tries to hide it, looking down at his shoes.

"That's alright," he says. "Maybe next year, we can..."

He stops suddenly, and Todd almost walks into him.

"What?" Todd says, looking between Dirk and the wall he's staring at.

"Todd, look," Dirk says, his eyes gleaming. "I've found it!"

Todd looks back at the wall, which is covered in posters for weird bands he's never heard of.

"You found what?"

Dirk moves forward and places his hand on one of the posters, and suddenly Todd sees it.

"It's the fish!" he says. "The fish with the bowtie!"

"Soup and Fish," Dirk reads. "Of course! That must be the name of Phantom's band!"

"I don't get it," Todd says.

"It's an old-fashioned phrase for formalwear," Dirk says.

Todd raises his eyebrows, nonplussed.

"You know," Dirk says, waving his hands impatiently, "like in the old days, when people used to dress for formal dinners. Soup and fish courses."

"Right," Todd says, "sorry. I haven't been to any country mansions in the 1930s lately."

"Appropriate music for all formal events," Dirk reads. "Weddings, Christenings, Silver Anniversaries. Contact the number below."

"Wow," Todd says, "he really sold out."

Dirk snorts, looking back at Todd. "I don't imagine he got very much." He carefully tears the poster off the wall, folds it, and puts it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

"This is good," Todd says, as they start walking again. "It's a lead, right?"

"Absolutely!" Dirk says, practically vibrating with excitement. "All we need to do is find out where they're playing next, and we can do some investigating! We're back in the game, Todd!"

Todd looks at him fondly and thinks about the first, weird days of their acquaintance, when Dirk's manic energy seemed strange and off-putting. He wonders, not for the first time, how he got here, and finds that he's okay with not quite knowing.

"Why did he even send you that pick?" he wonders aloud, as they draw level with Dirk's door. "I mean, if he wants to kill you, and he knows where you live, why not just break into your apartment, or wait for you outside? Why send you a clue?"

"It must be a _trap_ ," Dirk says, sounding completely thrilled.

"Of course," Todd says, following him inside and up the stairs. "And of course, we're going to walk right into it."

"Of course!" Dirk says, beaming at him. "Is that a problem?"

"Nah," Todd says, as Dirk unlocks the door to his apartment. "I trust you."

For the second time that night, Dirk stops in his tracks, and for the second time, Todd almost walks into him.

Dirk turns to look at him in the dimly lit, narrow hallway, and right on cue, Todd's heart rate picks up, his face warm.

"Thank you, Todd," Dirk says, intently. He's still standing with one hand on the half-open door of his apartment, making no move to go inside. "I hope you know that I–that is, I..."

Todd waits, and waits, poised for something that he can't quite see coming yet. Unfortunately, at that moment, someone pokes a gun into his back.

*

"Don't move, either of you," a rough voice says from behind him. "I'm armed, Gently, and I won't hesitate to blow a hole through your friend here."

Dirk is frozen, his eyes darting between Todd and (presumably) Phantom in desperation. Todd tries not to move. At all.

"Alright," Dirk says, raising his hand slowly, "Let's not get carried away, Nick."

"I go by Phantom now," Phantom says, his gun digging a little harder into Todd's back. Todd swallows.

"Yes, of course," Dirk says. "My apologies. I go by Dirk now. Which you knew, obviously. And...you knew my address. Just out of curiosity, how exactly did you get in here?"

"French lessons," Phantom says, sounding pleased with himself. Todd immediately resolves to punch this guy the moment there's no longer a gun at his back.

"I still don't quite understand–" Dirk begins.

"That's enough chattering in the hallway," Phantom says. "Go on, get inside."

Dirk bites his lip and looks at Todd, broadcasting worry. Todd tries to nod slightly at him. Dirk sighs and moves into the apartment.

"Alright," Phantom says once they're all inside, "where is it?"

Todd moves closer to Dirk. Phantom swings the gun erratically between them from a few feet away. He's pale and dark haired, dressed like a thousand assholes Todd's met on the Seattle music scene, with worn chucks and ripped jeans. They can take this guy down, Todd thinks. He's twitchy as hell, and clearly isn't used to holding guns. He still kind of wishes Farah was here.

Dirk looks bemused. "Where's what?"

"You _know_ what!"

"I'm sorry," Dirk says, "I haven't a clue."

"It must be here somewhere," Phantom says, sounding desperate, his gun now pointing straight at Dirk, his hand shaking. Todd is tensed, waiting for his chance, terrified he'll mess it up and get Dirk shot. He tries to inch closer without being noticed.

"Phantom," Dirk says, "let's just be reasonable about this, alright?"

"It must have been you," Phantom says. "You were the only one I told about it, apart from the guys in the band, and now suddenly you're back in the country and it's gone? Do you think I'm thick?"

"No," Dirk says, overly conciliatory. "Of course not! But I'm afraid you have the wrong man. I haven't taken anything of yours. I'm just back in the country to get my things. I'm moving to America, you see–I'm sure you've heard of it–"

"Shut up!" Phantom says, scrunching his face up, "God, you still never shut up–" and that's as far as he gets before Todd crashes into him, knocking the gun out of his hand and sending it skittering across the floor.

"Todd!" Dirk yells, sounding terrified, and Todd can't reassure him that he's fine, because at that moment, Phantom punches him, hard, in the stomach. He doubles over, wheezing, and drops to the floor.

"You stay out of this, it doesn't concern you!" he yells at Todd. Todd thinks this is kind of an unfair attitude from a guy who introduced himself by holding him at gunpoint. Phantom punctuates this point by kicking Todd in the ribs. Todd cries out.

"Stop it!" Dirk yells, and jumps on Phantom's back.

"Dirk," Todd tries to wheeze, "no."

He tries to get himself into a more upright position, but he's seriously winded and can't do much more than lie on the floor watching Dirk engage in the most incompetent fighting he's ever seen in his life. He flails out with his left foot and manages to catch Phantom in the shin, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Oof," Dirk says, landing on top of him. Todd starts to crawl laboriously towards the gun as Dirk and Phantom wrestle ineffectually, kicking at each other. He and Dirk would make shitty action heroes, he's always known this, but right now it's extremely inconvenient.

"Ow!" Dirk yells from behind him. "Did you just _bite_ me? What the hell?"

Todd would sigh if he could currently _breathe_. He inches his fingers closer to the gun.

"Put that down, it's a gift," Dirk says indignantly, and then there's a sickening crack and the scuffling stops. Todd grabs the gun and swings around, pointing it at Phantom from the floor.

Phantom freezes, curses, and runs out the door. Todd waits until he hears the front door slam, and drops his arms, wheezing painfully.

"Dirk," he says, trying to roll in Dirk's direction. Shit. Dirk isn't moving.

"Dirk!" he says, louder, crawling over and pulling Dirk into his lap. There's blood, he realizes, trying to tamp down his useless panic.

"Dirk, wake up. Come on, don't be a dick. _Dirk_."

He looks around desperately and sees, a few feet away, the Space Needle mug Dirk insisted on buying in the airport, cracked and smeared with blood. First thing tomorrow, he thinks, as he starts to shake with rage, they are going to see this Gary guy and have a little talk.

"Dirk," he says again, pushing Dirk's hair out of the way to try and find the source of the blood. "Wake up, please."

Dirk's eyelids flutter and Todd breathes out shakily, pain radiating from various places in his torso. He fucking hates London.

"Todd?" Dirk says, and thank God, his eyes are focusing on Todd's face.

"Yeah," Todd says. "Yeah it's me. It's okay. You're gonna be fine."

"Oh, good," Dirk says, closing his eyes again. "I was worried."

Todd fixes his hair again, reassured by the lack of fresh blood. Dirk forces his eyes open again and says, with great concentration, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Todd says. "Let's get you on to the bed."

It takes a bit of maneuvering, but he hauls Dirk onto the bed, and removes his shoes, shirt and tie before lying down next to him. He'll just have to sleep in his jeans tonight, and he usually wears the Mexican Funeral shirt anyway. Todd briefly considers calling the police, but decides they can have that conversation in the morning, when they're both more conscious. If this is one of Dirk's weird cases, they probably wouldn't be much help anyway.

Dirk looks over at him and smiles, his eyes at half-mast. "Hi."

"We should really get you to a hospital," Todd says, his hand drifting towards Dirk's head wound again. "You might have a concussion."

"I don't think so," Dirk says. "I know what those are like. No nausea, no double vision, no forgetting my own name. I just need...sleep."

Todd realizes that his highly sensible checking of Dirk's head wound has at this point turned into a sort of repetitive hair stroke, and drops his hand back to the bed. He watches Dirk for a moment, and then gets up to lock and chain the door, and put Phantom's gun in the bedside drawer. He puts a basin by the bed, and sets an alarm on his phone to check on Dirk in a couple of hours, just in case.

He lies back down, wincing at the pain in his ribs. Dirk opens his eyes and smiles at him. Todd puts his hand on Dirk's wrist, and feels his pulse, steady and reassuring.

"Hey, Todd," Dirk whispers.

"What?" Todd whispers back.

"I didn't get shot in your shirt."

Todd closes his eyes and, despite everything, smiles.

"I guess that's a bright side," he says.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's alright," Dirk says. "I laugh in the face of head trauma. Which is usually a bad sign, now I think of it, but I am, in fact, perfectly fine."
> 
> *
> 
> In which Dirk tries to remain optimistic, and Todd is 1000% done with London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to all the lovely folks who have been leaving comments and encouragement. It's keeping me writing, guys! I appreciate it.

Dirk wakes up the next morning feeling like he's been trampled by Pepe the rhino. He winces when he tries to move, his head swimming in an unpleasant manner.

"Ungh," he says, and Todd stirs beside him.

"Agh," Todd says, clutching his ribs, and then they both just lie there for a bit, breathing heavily and trying not to move.

"How's your head?" Todd asks, eventually, and Dirk suddenly remembers Todd waking him in the middle of the night–twice–to check on him.

"Terrible," he says, "but I don't think there's any lasting damage. Everything's just a bit... spinny."

He turns very carefully onto his side, so that he can see Todd better. Todd very slowly rotates his head about three inches so he can look back. Dirk grimaces at him in sympathy.

Todd reaches over and pushes Dirk's hair out of the way so he can see where Phantom hit him.

"I should have cleaned this out last night," he says, his hand hovering around the edges of Dirk's really quite insignificant head wound.

"It's alright," Dirk says. "I laugh in the face of head trauma. Which is usually a bad sign, now I think of it, but I am, in fact, perfectly fine."

Todd smiles tiredly at him and lets his hand drop so that Dirk's hair flops into his eyes. Dirk tries to blow it away, with limited success. Todd laughs, and then groans, curling in on himself slightly.

"How are _you_?" Dirk asks, beginning to worry. "Todd, he kicked you! I'm sorry, I should have–"

"I'm okay," Todd says, still clutching his torso in a very non-reassuring way. "Just a little tender. I've had bruised ribs before, I don't think this is it. Lucky he wasn't wearing Docs." He closes his eyes again, breathing carefully in and out.

"Maybe we should get you checked out," Dirk says. He suddenly feels very guilty. Todd has done nothing but look after him and save his life ever since they met. He should really look after Todd a little better sometimes. He reaches over and places a hand softly on Todd's side, alongside Todd's own, as if he could somehow heal Todd's bruises that way.

"It's fine," Todd says, and Dirk realises his eyes are open and he's watching him. "We both just need some food, and some water, and a shower. I mean. Showers."

He coughs, and then hisses in pain.

"Okay," Dirk says doubtfully. "But nothing too strenuous today. Maybe we should stay in bed for a bit."

"I want to go see your friend," Todd says, looking very serious.

"What friend?" Dirk asks, confused.

"The...guy!" Todd says. "The horoscope guy. I want to know how he keeps predicting every shitty thing that happens to you, and why he doesn't _do_ anything about it."

"I don't think Gary knew specifically what was going to happen," Dirk says. "And you definitely need to sleep a little longer."

With great effort, he pushes himself into a sitting position, and his head clamours at him loudly. It's going to be one of _those_ days.

"What are you doing?" Todd says, his face alarmed even while he keeps his body perfectly still.

"I'm going to get us some painkillers," Dirk says, "and some water. Then we're going back to sleep, and then we can get up and shower, and _maybe_ go and see Gary. No arguments!" he adds, when Todd opens his mouth to speak. Todd closes his mouth again.

"Good," Dirk says, somewhat taken aback at actually being listened to. "Alright," he adds, for good measure, and slowly swings his legs over the side of the bed.

He brings two large glasses of water and a packet of ibuprofen back to the bed, helping Todd sit up a little so he can take some. He takes some himself, drinks some water, and then looks down, realising he's still wearing his jeans. He changes into his pyjama bottoms and gets back into bed, shivering.

"You okay?" Todd asks, seeming a little more comfortable and a little less agonised than before.

"Yes," Dirk says, still shivering. "I just wasn't prepared for the world outside of the bed to be so _chilly_."

Todd scoots a little closer under the duvet and rubs his hand up and down Dirk's arm. He's radiating warmth, and Dirk moves closer, his eyes shut.

"Thank you, Todd," he says, already feeling warm and drowsy.

"No problem," Todd says, his hand gradually slowing to a stop above Dirk's elbow. "I wish Farah was here," he says, after a minute.

Dirk cracks an eye open and squints at him. Todd's face is much closer than he expected.

"What," he says, "in the bed?"

" _No_ ," Todd says. "Here in London. She would have been useful for all the fighting stuff."

"Ah," Dirk says, opening his other eye. "I see what you mean, yes. She's very good with that kind of thing. Guns, and... kicking."

"Way better than us," Todd agrees.

"Let's not sell ourselves short," Dirk says. "You hit Gordon Rimmer with that... knuckleduster thingy. And I was trained as a ninja by the CIA."

"No, you weren't," Todd says, fondly.

"Oh, that's right," he says. "That was a lie, wasn't it? Hard to keep track, sometimes."

Todd smiles. It strikes Dirk that Todd has been smiling a lot since they got here. He suddenly feels even warmer.

"You know," he says, speaking the thought out loud as it occurs to him, "I'm getting the feeling you actually quite like London."

Todd gives Dirk that wry half-smile he does when he's happy but embarrassed about it. It is, as so many things about Todd are, inexplicably charming.

"It's okay," he says. "When people aren't yelling at us and trying to kill us."

"I think that's less a matter of geography and more a factor of your continued proximity to me, I'm afraid."

Todd yawns widely, and Dirk, triggered by some primal yawn instinct, does the same.

"I guess we'll see," Todd says, drifting off again. Dirk watches him for as long as he can keep his eyes open.

*

When he wakes up a few hours later, Dirk feels much better. By the time he and Todd have had a shower, a coffee, and a bowl of cereal each, they're no longer wincing every time they move, which is always nice. They take the tube to Gary's again, Todd looking angry and stubborn. It seems he thinks Gary is somehow to blame for their rather embarrassing encounter with Phantom yesterday, and is determined to distrust him.

Gary generously insists on taking them out for lunch, and, less generously, insists on choosing the venue. In an unexpected turn of events, he takes them to one of those strange diners that acts like it's America in the 1950s, with milkshakes and chrome jukeboxes. When Dirk slides into the booth, Gary sits down next to him, and Todd hesitates before frowning and sitting opposite.

"So," Dirk says, once they're digging into their chips, disingenuously labelled _fries_ , "I think there's one thing we can all agree on. Phantom did not send me that guitar pick."

"What?" Todd says, at the same time Gary asks, "What guitar pick?"

Dirk takes the pick out of his pocket and hands it to Gary, who turns it over, frowning.

"It's the logo for Phantom's band," Dirk explains, shovelling more chips into his mouth.

"But you _don't_ think he sent it to you?" Todd asks.

"Of course not! You raised an excellent point, yesterday, Todd." He points a chip at Todd for emphasis. "Why send me that pick when he could just break into my building? Whoever sent it to me obviously wanted to lure me into a trap, or else to give me a warning of some kind. Why do that, and then lie in wait at my flat to ambush me on the same day?"

"Huh," Todd says, with that vaguely surprised expression he always wears whenever Dirk makes a reasonable point about something.

"It must have been one of his bandmates," Dirk says, resting his hand on his chin as he thinks it out. "They know that I know him, and they think I have the... thing, whatever it is. They were trying to scare me into giving it back."

"He did say he told the guys in the band about it." Todd says, pushing his plate away.

"Yes," Dirk says. "Whatever it is, they want it back as well."

"Or," Todd says, "they wanted to steal it from him too, and they think you beat them to it."

"And we have no idea what this object is?" Gary asks, handing the pick back to Dirk.

"None whatsoever," Dirk says.

"He said he told you about it," Todd says. "Do you remember him mentioning anything valuable? When you knew him at college?"

"He was very boring," Dirk admits. "I may have tuned it out."

"He was at St. Cedd's?" Gary suddenly looks interested.

"Yes," Dirk says, "he mostly went by Nick, then. You remember Nick. Kind of nervous, always trying to pretend his family wasn't disgustingly rich?"

It was very tiresome, actually. Everyone, even Dirk, who didn't care about money in the slightest, knew that Nick's family owned half of Yorkshire. He wasn't fooling anyone by buying all of his clothes in charity shops and yelling in the quad about the evils of capitalism. For heaven's sake, the man drove a Lamborghini.

"Oh yes," Gary says, "the terribly jumpy chap with the needlessly flashy car who had such a crush on you."

Dirk and Todd both stare at him.

"Er," Dirk says, "I don't think he..."

"Oh, Dirk," Gary says impatiently, "come now. He was always following you about the place, offering to buy you lunch and asking you questions about quantum mechanics. He was reading Music and English Literature. He wouldn't know Schrodinger's cat if it bit him on the backside. Didn't you think it was somewhat suspicious?"

"Oh," Dirk says, blankly. "I mean, there was that one time... with the fire. But we were at uni! Everyone was always asking everyone out on dates. It was all people talked about. I didn't think anything of it."

"You really are quite charmingly naive," Gary says.

"Quantum mechanics?" Todd says, sounding lost.

"Yes," Dirk says, turning back to him and placing his hands on the table. "In order to _truly_ understand the holistic nature of the universe, one has only to follow the principles of quantum mechanics to their logical conclusion, which is to say–"

"Dirk," Gary interrupts, "as delightful as I find your quasi-scientific rhapsodising, do we really have time for this right now?"

"Right," Dirk says, folding his hands in his lap. "I suppose not."

"So," Gary says, "the questions we must ask ourselves are these: what is this mysterious and much-coveted object? And to what lengths will these people go to get their hands on it?"

"We should talk to Phantom," Dirk says.

"No," Todd says, forcefully. Dirk looks at him, surprised.

"Todd," he says, "it's our best bet. He can tell us what the...thing is, and he can give us information on his bandmates."

"Dirk, he tried to _shoot_ you."

"He was bluffing," Dirk says, dismissively. "He wouldn't shoot anyone. He's a vegetarian."

Todd looks unconvinced.

"He's caught up in the middle of something he doesn't fully understand," Dirk says, "and he's panicking. I'm sure we can reason with him."

"He knocked you unconscious!"

"Well, yes," Dirk concedes, "that was a little rude."

Todd buries his face in his hands.

"I'm afraid Dirk is right, Todd," Gary says. He pats his mouth delicately, as though the bright red paper napkin were a monogrammed handkerchief. "Nick is, and always has been, a blithering idiot. If he was driven to such extremes, it's probable that someone much more dangerous is lurking in the wings."

"Fine," Todd says, lowering his hands, "but we're bringing the gun."

Dirk wrinkles his nose. "Must we? Guns are so...loud."

"Just in case," Todd says, looking determined. Dirk makes a strategic decision to drop it.

"Fine," he says, "alright. So now we just have to figure out how to find Phantom."

"Maybe your neighbour could help," Todd says. "The French teacher."

"It's worth a try," Dirk says, "but I doubt he gave her his real name."

"Well," Gary says, "it sounds like you lads have the whole thing in hand. Do get in touch if I can be of any assistance."

"Wait a second," Todd says, as Gary raises his hand for the cheque. Gary looks at him in polite enquiry.

"Yes, Todd?"

"How did you know Phantom was going to knock Dirk unconscious?"

"I didn't know that, exactly," Gary says. "The messages of the stars are complex, and often obscure, until such time they become rather unavoidably clear."

"You mean when you literally get walloped over the head with them," Dirk says.

"If you want to be crude about it," Gary says, slipping the waitress two twenties. "Keep the change, darling," he adds, and she blushes, fleeing back to the till.

"So you get...what?" Todd persists. "Images? Random words? Why did you phrase it that way? Did you know it would be a _miniature_ of a famous building when you wrote it?"

"Please, my dear boy," Gary says, passing his hand over his eyes as if he feels faint. "You are prying into my most hallowed recesses."

Todd makes an incoherent noise and looks at Dirk. Dirk shrugs. He could have _told_ Todd that this approach wouldn't get him anywhere.

"Thanks for lunch," Dirk says to Gary, politely. Todd continues to glare at Gary in undisguised suspicion. Dirk kicks him under the table.

"Thanks," Todd says, grudgingly.

"It gave me great pleasure," Gary says. "I shall convey your regards to Petunia."

He stands up and sweeps out the door, almost knocking over a waitress and an anachronistic gumball machine en route.

"Who's Petunia?" Todd asks, twisting to look after him in bewilderment and then wincing and clutching his side.

"The bird," Dirk says. "Do you want to stay for a bit? I fancy one of those milkshakes."

Todd looks back at him, blinks, and then relaxes a little.

"Yeah," he says, "okay. Giving you more sugar can only go well."

Dirk grins and flags down a waitress.

"I'm kinda glad that guy is gone," Todd says, once Dirk's ordered a chocolate milkshake and Todd has asked for another coffee. "He gives me the creeps."

"Gary?" Dirk asks. "Why?"

"Well, he seems like he's just kind of an oddball, but then he knows all this stuff. Stuff there's no way for him to know. Don't you think that's weird?"

Dirk looks intently down at his hands on the scuffed Formica table, trying not to fidget. He suddenly feels rather exposed.

"Shit," Todd says. "Dirk, I didn't mean..."

"It's alright," Dirk says, and he means it. Todd is hardly the first person to express this sentiment. "I can see how it would be... off-putting."

"In him it is," Todd says. "Not in you."

Dirk risks a glance up at him. Todd offers him a small, apologetic smile, his eyes very serious and very blue.

"What's the difference?" Dirk asks, cautiously.

"I don't know," Todd admits, looking down. "I guess I found it weird with you too, at first."

Dirk remembers Todd's wary demeanour in the first days after they'd met and shrinks into the red vinyl booth a little.

"Before I got to know you," Todd adds, quickly. He puts his hand out like he wants to reassure Dirk, and then stops, and drops it awkwardly in the middle of the table. "Dirk, come on. It's...different. The way you _use_ it is different. If you knew one of your friends was going to get hurt, you would try to help. You wouldn't just print it in a newspaper that they may or may not buy that day and let them take their chances."

Dirk considers this, feeling slightly better. The waitress sets Todd's coffee in front of him, and he nods at her distractedly, not taking his eyes off Dirk.

"I suppose not," he says. "But Gary has helped me, once or twice."

"Oh yeah?" Todd looks sceptical. "How?"

"Well," Dirk says, "once, when we were at university, he helped me steal a car."

Todd stares at him. "You stole a car?"

"Well," Dirk says, "I suppose _borrowed_ would be a more accurate term. I brought it back. Or, rather, I brought a slightly _different_ car back, but I parked it in the same space. And really, it was a much nicer car, so I don't know why Steve got so annoyed. It was a lovely shade of acid green."

Todd laughs into his coffee, looking much more relaxed than he did ten minutes ago.

"You know," Dirk says, pretending half-heartedly to be offended, "I'm not sure I'm happy with how much of this week you've spent laughing at me." Truthfully, the sight of Todd laughing is so wonderful he doesn't care at all that he's the butt of the joke.

"Sorry," Todd says, still grinning. "Just...a lot of your past is very funny."

"Well," Dirk says, "I suppose that's good, isn't it? I can't be all dark, government conspiracy back story, it would wear a bit thin after a while."

"It is kind of badass," Todd says, consolingly.

"Really?"

"Sure. I don't know anyone else who went on the run from a government agency. Or set a guy on fire on their first date."

"Yes, well, I'm a man of great depth and complexity," Dirk says. "Ah, my milkshake!"

He smiles at the waitress. "Thank you," he says, handing her a business card. She takes it, looking slightly bemused, and leaves.

When he looks over at Todd, he's laughing again.

*

"Oh, you mean Nick," Dominique says. "Yes, I remember him."

Dirk stares at her, flummoxed.

"He gave you his real name?" he asks.

"Well, I should hope so," Dominique says. She's standing in the doorway of her flat, very pointedly not inviting them in. Her accent is the same strange mix of Paris and London that Dirk remembers, and she is just as polished and intimidating as ever. "I didn't like him very much. Coming in, knocking and smashing things over. Very nervous. And sweaty."

"Yes," Dirk says, "he was always like that, in my experience."

Todd shifts beside him and says, "How many lessons did he have?"

"Only two," Dominique says, adjusting her glasses. "To tell the truth, I do not think he was very interested in learning French."

"No," Dirk says, "that was a ruse to get into the building so he could try and shoot me."

Dominique raises her eyebrows. "That clumsy oaf, with a gun?"

"Yes," Dirk says, "total disaster. It was rather embarrassing, really."

He puts on his best charming face. It never works on Todd, but it's all Dirk's got, so he dusts it off and aims it in Dominique's direction. She looks unimpressed. "Look, Dominique, is there any way he gave you an address?"

"Oui," she says, folding her arms. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," Dirk says, turning the charm up slightly higher, "it's just that I'd quite like to have a chat with him. About the whole holding me at gunpoint thing."

"Meester Gently," Dominique says, her French accent intensifying in indignation, "I hope I do not have to explain to you, a private detective, the importance of treating my clients' details with respect and discretion."

"No," Dirk says, "of course not. It's just... he _did_ knock me unconscious with a novelty mug. And," he adds, playing his trump card, "I hate to bring it up, but I did find your Siamese that time when she ran off with Mr Chakrabarti's tabby. For no charge!"

Dominique narrows her eyes at him. Dirk holds his breath.

"Fine," she says, abruptly. "You can have it. I don't care. That wanker broke my favourite lamp."

She turns and walks back into the flat. Through the crack that she leaves the door open, Dirk can see a meticulously organised mahogany desk. He turns towards Todd and gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up. Todd rolls his eyes.

"What is it with you and cats?" he mutters.

*

Todd insists on stopping in Dirk's flat on the way down to get Phantom's gun, which Dirk was rather hoping he'd forgotten about. He doesn't think they'll need it to confront Phantom, at least not when he himself is unarmed. He goes along with it, mostly because he thinks it will make Todd feel better, and Todd is hardly the kind of person to fire a gun without good reason anyway, so it probably won't do any harm. He watches curiously as Todd takes the gun out of the drawer, checks the clip and the safety before shoving it in the back of his jeans.

"How do you know how to do that?" he asks, refraining from adding that it seems like an unusual skill for a former hotel bellhop to possess.

"Farah showed me," Todd says. "When you were..." he waves his hand, presumably to indicate _being held captive by government agents_ , "... you know."

"Oh," Dirk says.

"Do you want me to show you?"

Dirk isn't sure what kind of face he makes, but it makes Todd sigh.

"Look," he says, "I don't like it either, but we have the kind of life where people occasionally pull guns on us, so it makes sense that we should know how to use them."

"I suppose so," Dirk says, doubtfully. Todd moves towards him, reaching for the gun.

"What, _now_?"

"Well, yeah," Todd says. "We're going to question a guy who tried to shoot us _yesterday_. We should both be able to defend ourselves if we have to."

"I think you're overreacting slightly," Dirk says reasonably.

"Dirk, he tried to _shoot_ us!" Todd yells. "Am I speaking English here? Do you remember this guy pointing a gun at you less than twenty four hours ago?"

"Alright," Dirk says, holding his hands up, "fine. Show me."

Todd sighs in an aggrieved manner and reaches for the gun again, taking it out and displaying it for Dirk.

"Okay," he says, and then cuts off abruptly as a brick flies through the window.

"Holy shit," Todd yells, throwing his hands up as they both duck away from the flying shards of glass. Dirk straightens up and stares at the brick. He's half expecting it to have a note attached, like in the films, but it's just a brick. A simple, red brick sitting innocently in the middle of his carpet, as if to say _Who, me? I'm just a brick, mate_.

"What the–" he gets out before a second object flies through the window and lands next to the brick. It's a bottle filled with murky liquid, with a flaming rag sticking out of it, and okay, Dirk knows _that's_ bad.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Todd yells. He turns to Dirk, wide-eyed, and says, "Dirk! Do you have a fire extinguisher?"

"Erm," Dirk says. "Yes! He dives towards the cupboard by the door and pulls out several raincoats and umbrellas before finding the dusty red fire extinguisher and fire blanket that had been in the kitchen when he moved in.

Todd grabs it and pulls the ring out, pointing it at the fire and squeezing the black lever. A tiny, pathetic dribble of foam appears.

"Shit!" Todd says again, as the flames begin to spread across the carpet. He grabs the fire blanket from Dirk, who is still standing there uselessly, and rips it open, running towards the flames.

"Todd!" Dirk yells. "Be _careful_!" He starts to cough. That thing really smells _dreadful_.

He watches as Todd smothers the flames, and then falls back on the carpet, hacking like an old smoker.

"Todd!" Dirk rushes to kneel at his side. "Are you alright?" He grabs Todd's face, looking into his eyes, with no clue what he's looking for.

"Yeah," Todd says, his eyes startlingly blue in his dirty face. Dirk wipes away a black smudge with his thumb, his hands shaking. "Dirk," Todd says, "I'm–" he cuts himself off with another coughing fit.

"Water!" Dirk says, seizing upon something useful he can do. "I'll get you some water. We should probably get out of the flat, too," he adds. Todd nods, not trying to speak. Dirk helps him up and leads him into the hallway.

"Wait here," he says, needlessly, and darts back inside to get Todd a glass of water, coughing and covering his mouth with his sleeve.

"Here," he says, rushing back to the hallway with minimal slopping of water over his shirt cuff, and kneeling beside Todd with the glass. Todd takes it from him with unsteady hands and sips it, spilling it all down his chin. Dirk drops into a sitting position at his side, facing him and trying to stop his hands fluttering anxiously around Todd's shoulders as Todd rides out another coughing fit. Todd hands the water back to Dirk and lets his head thump back against the wall, closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Dirk says miserably, and Todd's eyes fly open, looking at him incredulously. "I'm so glad you were there. I don't know what I would have done... let the place go up in flames, probably. Do you need to go to a hospital? Can you breathe alright?"

"Dirk," Todd says, his voice slightly scratchier than normal, but somewhat steadier than a few minutes ago, "I'm okay. We're lucky the glass didn't smash."

He takes the water out of Dirk's hands and places it gently on the carpet next to him, and then carefully takes Dirk's hands in both of his. Dirk stares at their hands, trying to calm himself down.

"Dirk," Todd says. "Hey. Look at me."

Dirk looks up. Todd is staring at him in concern, which is so backwards he would almost laugh if he weren't so angry with himself.

"I'm okay," Todd repeats. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Dirk says, "of course. Thanks to you."

Todd shrugs, making a passable attempt at a grin. "What are assis-friends for?"

Dirk laughs shakily. "I think," he says, "this friendship seems like a slightly unequal one at times. Basically, I drag you into trouble, and then you save us."

"That's not–" Todd begins, but is once again rudely cut short: this time by the distinctive sound of an irate landlord charging up the stairs.

*

Mr Chakrabarti, once he's finished shouting at them, allows Dirk to go back in and fetch his things before he forcibly removes them from the building, taking Dirk's keys and informing him in no uncertain terms that if he sees them anywhere near his property again, Dirk will be investigating his own murder next. Dirk can't quite refrain from pointing out that this makes no sense, but he only gets halfway through his rebuttal before Todd grabs him by the sleeve of his jacket and drags him away, apologising to Mr Chakrabarti over his shoulder.

"Let one go once in a while, Dirk," he advises, still sounding scratchy. Dirk sighs, standing on the pavement with most of his worldly possessions, his eyes and throat stinging, feeling grimy and out of breath and _exhausted_ -and thinks, at least Todd is still here.

"I let things go all the time," he says. "Only last week–"

" _Dirk_ ," Todd says, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, alright," Dirk says, and they stand there in silence for a moment.

"Did you get the paper today?" Todd asks, suddenly. Dirk looks at him.

"No," he says, slowly. "I assumed if there was anything important, Gary would have mentioned it at lunch."

Todd raises two unconvinced eyebrows in his direction.

"Yes, good point," Dirk says. "Wait here."

He darts into the corner shop and picks up a paper, cheerfully requesting the shopkeeper put it on his tab, and then ducks back outside.

"Alright," he says, shaking the paper open and flipping to the horoscopes page, "let's see..."

Todd doesn't try to look over his shoulder this time, just stands there with his arms folded, waiting.

Dirk reads his horoscope and winces.

"What?" Todd says, sounding dangerous.

" _Today an old friend will buy you a cocktail_ ," Dirk reads.

"Son of a bitch," Todd says.

"I suppose we should go and find a hotel," Dirk says, folding the paper back up.

Todd sighs and picks up one of the bags clustered around them. "Yeah, okay. Hey, it could be worse. At least I didn't get electrocuted this time."

" _That's_ why you're afraid of kitchen appliances!" Dirk says, in dawning realisation.

"I'm _not_ afraid of–you know what? Never mind."

He picks up another bag and starts walking towards the main street, and Dirk grabs the remaining bags and jogs after him.

"An _old friend_ ," Dirk muses, as they fall into step together. "I wonder who that is?"

Todd stares at him. "Are you serious?"

"It's not Phantom," Dirk says. "He's much too nervy for something like this. I can't imagine where he got a gun in the first place, but I can't see him resorting to arson."

Todd gapes at him, but doesn't seem about to say anything, so Dirk continues, adjusting a bag strap that's digging into his shoulder.

"If there is another player involved here, Phantom is probably in danger too. We should really warn him. After we're finished questioning him," he adds, as Todd looks increasingly livid.

"Why do you like this guy? He pulled a gun on us!"

" _Like_ him?" Dirk repeats, baffled. "I'm not inviting him for mini-golf, Todd, I'm just trying to keep him from getting murdered! Isn't that what we do?"

"You didn't do such a good job with the last guy who hired you," Todd says, and then immediately winces and stops walking.

"That... there was a time loop," Dirk says, his voice coming out smaller than he meant it to.

"I know," Todd says, moving towards Dirk. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

Dirk looks at his feet.

"It's alright," he says.

"No," Todd says, "it's not. Dirk, I didn't mean–look, I'm just stressed about all the people trying to kill us, okay? That was a close call."

Dirk nods.

"I'll be fine," he says, maybe not very convincingly. He looks back up at Todd. "And as long as I'm fine, you'll be fine, too."

"Yeah?" Todd says. "How do you figure?"

"Because," Dirk says, "I always end up exactly where I'm meant to be."

Todd looks at him like maybe he doesn't quite get it, but Dirk thinks that's alright. He met Todd for a reason, and he's starting to think maybe the universe, against all odds, will let him keep this one thing. He starts to walk again, and after a moment, Todd follows him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Alright!" Dirk folds the paper up and tucks it under his arm, pushing Todd bodily along the sidewalk. "Let's go and find Phantom, and keep an eye out for any escaped American convicts or aggressive looking ginger cats."
> 
> "This is not improving my mood," Todd tells him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Thanks again for all the nice comments. I hope this chapter lives up to expectations! They certainly seem to be getting longer each time without any conscious plan to make them so on my part, so there's that.
> 
> Todd is suffering from some anxiety in this chapter which doesn't progress to a full-blown panic attack, but which some people might find triggering. It's mostly at the beginning, just a heads up.

Todd is awake long before Dirk the next morning, which is becoming a more regular occurrence lately. He thinks maybe that's a good sign, that Dirk is sleeping better, but he has no frame of reference for Dirk's sleeping habits before the Patrick Spring case, so he's not sure. He plugs in the tiny electric kettle in the bathroom so that he can boil it without waking Dirk, and makes himself a shitty cup of coffee, avoiding his own reflection in the mirror. Dirk booked them into a double room the night before without blinking an eye, and Todd is a confusing mixture of pissed off and deeply grateful. He's not sure what he would have done if the decision had fallen to him, but it probably would have involved panicking and saying something stupid if yesterday's pattern is anything to go by.

He knows that he was needlessly cruel to Dirk yesterday, but Dirk seems to have brushed it off and is treating him the same as ever. This, predictably, makes him feel worse. He drinks his coffee sitting on the closed toilet lid, waiting for the gut-churning guilt and panic to settle to manageable background levels. The trick is to very deliberately not think about _anything_. Or at least, nothing important. Todd is not thinking about Dirk's hands shaking as he touched Todd's face, ineffectually checking him for injuries. Not thinking about Dirk's abject gratitude at Todd putting the fire out. Not thinking about how crushed Dirk looked when Todd snapped at him, and how quickly he forgave him after a weak half-apology.

Turns out he's terrible at not thinking.

Before he met Dirk, when he had all the time in the world to not think about all the shitty things he'd done, Todd used to imagine ways his life could have gone differently if he'd made different choices. He imagined what kind of person he would be if he'd never lied about the pararibulitis. If he'd stayed with the band. If he'd finished college. It helped him lie more convincingly, imagining the person he could be, and what that person would say, or do. Sometimes he managed to forget he wasn't that guy, at least for a few seconds. He can't seem to forget it right now.

Hotel bathrooms, he thinks, in an effort to stop thinking, are weird places. They never have windows, which is maybe understandable–it's a privacy thing, he guesses. People are away from home, they're less comfortable, they want their bathroom experience to be as closed off and confidential as possible. He's stayed in some pretty subpar hostels and motels over the years, and used the bathroom while there were people singing, or pooping, or sometimes having sex, within earshot. Classy establishments like this, or like the Perriman Grand, had bathrooms that let you keep your bodily functions to yourself. They're like tiny alternate dimensions, outside of regular space-time. The fans hum smoothly. Everything is shiny and impersonal. Even the lighting is polite. They always have a giant mirror, though, which can be kind of jarring. It's hard to avoid it. If that's something you want to do. The only place in the room where you can avoid the mirror is in the shower.

He decides to take a shower.

While he's in the shower, he thinks about the time he went with the band to LA and got a wicked case of sunburn, and how the next morning the water pressure had seemed brutal against his tender skin. He thinks about that time in high school when he accidentally used Amanda's shampoo and spent the whole day smelling uncomfortably like coconut. He thinks about how the hot water in his apartment was always going screwy, and Dorian never got around to fixing it. He stands for a while and lets the water just run over him, into his face, over his most recent set of bruises, trying to get rid of the smoke smell he's not entirely sure he's not imagining at this point. The water stays hot, and after a while he's not sure how long he's been in there. He reaches beyond the shower curtain, picks up the coffee cup he left by the sink and drinks the dregs of his hotel bathroom coffee. It's cold and disgusting, so at least he knows time hasn't entirely stopped while he's been showering and not-thinking in a windowless room.

He washes his hair twice.

He thinks, suddenly and out of the blue, of himself saying _you deserve to be alone, Dirk_ , and scrunches his eyes closed like that will block out the memory. He thinks about maybe going back to bed and lying extremely close to Dirk, not touching or waking him up, just lying there, making sure no one else attacks them, and spending the whole day like that, letting his stomach unknot and his heartbeat slow down. Come to think of it, the coffee might not be helping either of those things.

He gets out of the shower, dries himself off, and realizes he didn't bring in a robe or a change of clothes. He stands for a while, shivering, and looking at his distorted reflection in the incongruous chrome kettle.

He very nearly jumps out of his skin at the first, tentative knock on the door.

"Todd?" he hears Dirk say, from outside the door, and just like that the outside world comes rushing back.

"I'll be out in a minute," he calls. "Just... brushing my teeth."

"Okay," Dirk says, after a second.

He brushes his teeth.

When he goes back into the room, wearing a towel and feeling a little weird about it, Dirk is sitting on the edge of the bed in his royal blue complimentary pajamas, looking smudged and rumpled and worried.

"Todd!" he says, smiling a little too brightly. "Good morning. Did you sleep well? I did. These complimentary pajamas are so comfy, I think I might keep them. The ones in the Perriman Grand were nicer, of course. I think I still have some, back home in the Ridgley, but it seems so strange wearing monogrammed pajamas when they're not _my_ initials, you know? I suppose I could pretend my name was Peter Gardiner, or Pelham Grenville. Do you know where the kettle is? I wanted to make tea, but it appears to have gone missing." He perks up still further. "Maybe it's connected to the case!"

His words are rushed, his smile is fixed, and he's actually _wringing his hands_ , apparently without realizing. Todd wants to yell at him a little, because it makes it so much harder for _him_ to act like he's fine when Dirk is so bad at it.

He swallows that impulse before he can add it to his growing pile of reasons to be mad at himself, flicks a smile at Dirk, and says, "The kettle is in the bathroom." He takes a fresh pair of jeans out of his bag. "I took it in there to make coffee, so I wouldn't wake you."

Dirk's smile become softer, more genuine. "Thank you, Todd," he says. "You're a good friend."

Todd raises an eyebrow at him. "It's no big deal," he says, stiffly.

"Well," Dirk says, "yesterday you saved us from getting burnt alive, and today you've made sure I got a lie-in. I'm not sure what other people look for in a best friend, but you're quite frankly my theoretical ideal."

Todd doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at this statement, so instead he says, "Shower's free, if you want."

As Dirk walks past him, he very deliberately doesn't look at the sooty smudge on his cheekbone.

*

Dirk forces them to go for breakfast before they leave the hotel, and looks at Todd weirdly when he orders an omelette and declines the coffee.

"What?" he says, raising his eyebrows at Dirk.

"Nothing," Dirk says, doing his _who, me?_ face. The silence lasts for the length of time it takes Todd to silently second and third guess his coffee decision, and then Dirk leans across the table and says, in a low voice,

"It's just. Are you...alright?"

"Yeah," Todd says. "Yeah. I'm fine. I mean, someone tried to set us on fire yesterday, but other than that–"

"Technically," Dirk said, "they tried to set me on fire. You don't need to be caught up in this if you'd rather not. You could go back to Seattle. Or just stay here, in the hotel."

He looks fairly confident that Todd will do nothing of the sort, probably because he knows that Todd is a compulsive worrier and has a fraught relationship with fancy hotels.

"No," Todd says, frustrated. "I won't be doing that, Dirk. You _know_ I'm not going to do that."

He takes a deep breath and tries to latch on to the worry for Dirk's safety that he locked away in the back of his mind sometime between the carpet going on fire and hearing Dirk's latest fucking horoscope. He finds it within pretty easy reach, and instantly wishes for his anger back, because it was easier than this.

"We're going to talk to that Phantom guy," he says to Dirk, "and we're gonna get to the bottom of this."

Dirk smiles at him uncertainly.

"Good," he says. "Sounds like a plan! Or. Sounds like a solid basis for a plan, at any rate. We can fill in the details as we go."

Todd breathes out slowly, and forces a smile for him.

*

On the way to the Tube station they stop to buy the paper, Todd already tensed up in advance of reading it. He forgets to be tense momentarily when Dirk reaches into his jacket for his wallet and accidentally pulls a kipper out of his pocket.

Todd stares at it.

"Oops," Dirk says, "wrong pocket." He puts the kipper back in his pocket and produces his wallet.

"You wanna tell me why you have a fish in your pocket?" Todd says, after they've left the store and he's waited for nearly ten whole seconds for Dirk to bring it up.

"Hmm?" Dirk says, flipping through the paper. "Oh, I took it from the breakfast buffet. Just a hunch."

"A _hunch_?" Todd says. "You had a hunch we might need a dead, salted fish at some point in our day?"

"Don't be so dramatic," Dirk says. "I wrapped it in a napkin."

"I'm sure the smell will make you really popular on the Tube."

Dirk snorts. "Todd, the day that I am the source of the most offensive odor on the Tube will be a day when my problems are far greater than purloined fish."

"Speaking of problems," Todd says, giving upon trying to reason with Dirk and nodding at the paper, "what does it say today?"

" _Orange is not your color_ , " Dirk reads.

"Do you think you're going to go to prison?" Todd says. "Wait, are British prison uniforms orange?"

"I don't know," Dirk says, "I never got that far."

"What?" Todd says.

"I mean...I've never been in a prison," Dirk says. "Why would I have been?"

"Um," Todd says.

"Alright!" Dirk folds the paper up and tucks it under his arm, pushing Todd bodily along the sidewalk. "Let's go and find Phantom, and keep an eye out for any escaped American convicts or aggressive looking ginger cats."

"This is not improving my mood," Todd tells him.

*

Phantom lives somewhere called Shoreditch, which it turns out is crawling with hipsters. Within ten paces of leaving the Tube station Todd spots nine beards and twelve beanie caps. Everyone looks blisteringly, ironically trendy. Dirk is wearing his usual skinny jeans with a navy leather jacket recovered from his apartment, and a tie with bananas on it. He actually blends in pretty well, he thinks wryly.

"Why are you smiling?" Dirk asks, already smiling back, without even knowing the answer.

"I was just thinking you kind of fit in here." He gestures at Dirk's outfit.

"Funny," Dirk says, "I was just thinking the same thing about you."

"What?" Todd says.

"Well, these people," Dirk says, "they look like...musicians." He waves his hand in passing at a guy with thick framed glasses and a Massive Attack shirt. The guy looks at him weirdly and veers away.

"Sometimes you say stuff like that, and I can't tell if you're being deliberately insulting or if it's really an accident."

Dirk smiles innocently. "It's a natural gift."

By the time they find Phantom's building, the edge has worn off of Todd's sour mood, and he's starting to feel a little excited again. If Dirk is right about Phantom not trying to kill them, then at the very least he probably knows who is, and Todd has no intention of leaving without some answers.

"Okay," Todd says, as they stand outside the front door. "Remember this guy threatened to shoot us, so try not to be too sympathetic."

"Got it," Dirk says. "Conversely, remember that he's a bit of a pushover and probably not the mastermind of this situation, and try not to shoot him."

"No promises," Todd says, mostly but not entirely joking. Dirk raises his eyebrows at him, and Todd pushes the buzzer.

"Hello?" A voice comes hesitantly over the speakers.

"Delivery for Nick Hodgson," Dirk says, pitching his voice higher than usual.

"One moment," the voice says, and a minute later, Phantom appears at the door, looking unshaven and tired. His eyes widen when he sees them, and he immediately tries to slam the door shut. Todd sticks his foot in the doorway.

"Hi, Nick," he says pleasantly. "Got a minute?"

*

Phantom's apartment has hardwood floors, and is bare and impersonal, apart from the posters on the whitewashed walls: The Clash, Blur, The Smiths. He has a smoke gray cat that looks at them warily, and who thaws significantly when Dirk makes a purring sound and scratches behind his ears.

"What are you doing here?" Phantom asks, sounding equal parts panicked and defensive.

"We just wanted to have a little talk," Dirk says, lifting up the cat and petting its head. "Mostly about you holding us hostage. And clocking me with the Space Needle."

"And trying to set Dirk's apartment on fire," Todd adds, and Phantom's eyes widen.

"On...fire?" he says. "I didn't–"

"So that was just a coincidence?" Todd says, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. He's kind of enjoying being the bad cop. "You hold us at gunpoint and the next day someone tries to burn the building down?"

"I didn't try to burn anything down," Phantom says, vehemently.

"You can see why we have a hard time trusting you, Phantom," Todd says, squaring his shoulders as menacingly as he can, and wishing he had some gum to chew to complete the image.

"You're lucky we didn't call the police," Dirk adds, easing into his good cop role with just the right mixture of sorrowful anger and betrayal. Todd turns his scowl up a few degrees to back him up.

"I knew you wouldn't call the police," Phantom says, defiantly. "You haven't trusted them since that time you got arrested in uni."

Todd can't help but flinch a little at this, although he's not sure why he's surprised that Dirk, who breaks into people's apartments and blithely trades cars that he doesn't own like they're baseball cards, might have been on the wrong side of the law in his life.

"That was... there was a misunderstanding," Dirk says, avoiding Todd's eyes.

"Oh, I see you didn't tell your little friend about that!" Phantom sounds viciously triumphant at Dirk's sheepish expression, and Todd is reminded how much he really hates this guy.

"Are you for real?" he says, letting a fraction of his very real anger peek through his faux tough guy persona. Phantom flinches and sinks into a nearby armchair. "You pulled a gun on us two days ago, and you're looking for the moral high ground?"

Phantom looks a little desperate.

"I just wanted it back," he says, looking kind of like he might cry. "I wouldn't have really shot you! I'm a vegetarian!"

"What did you want back?" Dirk says, sitting down on the couch opposite Phantom's shabby chair. He's still stroking the cat, which doesn't necessarily improve their credibility, but Dirk will be Dirk. Todd stays standing, arms folded.

"You really don't know?" Phantom says. "You don't have it?"

Yep, Todd thinks, definitely going to cry.

"We don't have a clue what you're looking for, Phantom," Dirk says. "But we think someone else is after it too, and they've shown some nasty tendencies towards wanting to murder us, so we're quite eager to find out."

"It's the Yellow Orionis," Phantom says, dramatically. He looks at Dirk significantly.

"Er," Dirk says. "The yellow what?"

"The Yellow Orionis! I told you about it, in uni! You must remember."

"Sorry," Dirk says, shrugging. "Brain like a sieve. Remind me what that is, exactly? Is it a bird of some kind, perhaps? Or a fish? I've had some experience with missing fish myself, and the emotional trauma, I don't mind telling you, was acute."

Phantom boggles at him. He looks kind of crushed by the revelation that Dirk hadn't been hanging on his every word.

"Today sometime," Todd says, with extremely false politeness.

"It's a diamond," Phantom says, shooting Todd a sulky glare. "It's practically priceless. It's been in my family for generations, but fourteen years ago, it went missing."

"I thought you said it went missing this week?" Dirk says.

"Well, yes." Phantom looks, if possible, even shiftier than before. "It _actually_ went missing this week."

"What are you talking about?" Todd says.

"Well, when I was at Cambridge, my parents got sick of sending me so much money, and they cut off my allowance. Told me I wouldn't see another penny until I was twenty one." He relates this in the hushed tones of someone talking about a great hardship in his life. "The diamond was technically mine–my grandfather left it to me, and I came into it when I was eighteen. So when it went missing, I got the insurance money."

"You stole it," Todd says. "From your own parents."

"I didn't _steal_ it," Phantom says defensively. "It was my property, so technically no real crime was committed."

"Apart from the insurance fraud," Todd says.

"Well, yes," Phantom says, deflating. "There was that."

"So when it actually went missing," Dirk says, "you couldn't report it."

"Exactly! And I don't know who could have taken it, because the only person who knew that I took it was Steve–"

"Steve?" Dirk says. "Steve Mander?"

"Yeah," Phantom says. "We're in a band together. It wasn't Steve, if that's what you're thinking. He was going to help me."

"Help you how?" Dirk leans forward intently.

"Well," Phantom says, "we needed money for some equipment for the band. So Steve came up with the idea of pretending the Orionis had turned up. We were going to get some of Steve's friends to tell the police that someone had approached them trying to sell it. Then we'd persuade my parents to offer a reward, Steve's friends would hand it in, and we'd all split the cash."

"How would that even work?" Todd says in disbelief. "Your friends just show up with a priceless diamond? If they told the police someone tried to sell it to them, you think the police would just sit back and let them handle it? They'd want to send one of their guys in."

"I think Todd's right," Dirk says. "I admit the motivations of the official police force are often a mystery to me, but I think they'd probably care more about busting a jewel fencing operation than recovering the actual jewel and letting the criminals get away."

"Steve said we could pull it off," Phantom says, stubbornly. "He says his friends have done stuff like this before. They know how it works."

"Phantom," Dirk says delicately. "Have you considered the possibility, however remote, that, in actual fact–"

"You're an idiot," Todd interrupts. Dirk shoots him an exasperated look.

"No," Phantom says, shaking his head. "Steve didn't screw me over. He was as surprised as I was when the diamond went missing. He was _furious_."

"Of course he was," Todd says, rolling his eyes. "He was planning on turning you in for insurance fraud and collecting the reward himself."

"He wouldn't do that," Phantom says, looking uncertain. "He wouldn't get any money anyway, if it just turned out I had it all along. My parents wouldn't pay him for recovering it from _me_."

"I'm guessing it was his idea to get your parents to offer a reward?" Todd asks. "Did he insist on any kind of specific wording? A signed contract?"

Phantom doesn't meet his eyes. Todd would almost feel bad for the guy if he hadn't threatened to shoot him.

"Alright," Dirk says kindly, "we could sit here all day trying to figure out who made a fool out of whom, but if we want to recover this yellow diamond thingy, there are a few questions we need answered."

"Anything you want to know," Phantom says, miserably.

"First," says Dirk, "where was the diamond being kept? Second, who knew where it was being kept, or had access to it? Third, has anyone tried to claim the reward yet? And lastly, what is the name of this cat?"

"Dirk," Todd says.

"Sorry," Dirk says.

"No one's tried to claim the reward that I know of. The only people who knew about it were me, Steve, and you," Phantom says. He shoots Dirk a baleful look and adds, "And apparently you didn't even remember me telling you about it."

"Well," Dirk says awkwardly. The cat meows plaintively and Dirk gets distracted, cooing at it.

"He likes you," Phantom says, smiling weakly at Dirk and the cat. Dirk looks pleased.

"Where was the diamond taken from?" Todd asks sharply. He is not in the mood for small talk with this guy.

"A safety deposit box," Phantom says, "at my bank in Central London. Steve and I both had keys."

"Why on earth did you think I had it, then?" Dirk asks. "I'd make a dreadful bank robber."

"I don't know!" Phantom says. "Weird stuff was always happening to you, and you never seemed to know how or why. Remember that thing with the horse?"

"Ah, Puffles," Dirk says, reminiscently. "In many ways, he was my greatest adversary. I remember, when _that_ whole thing started-" 

"Dirk," Todd says. "Jewel thieves."

"Right," Dirk says, refocusing. "Good assisting Todd, thank you." He turns back to Phantom.

"Can't you ask at the bank if Steve took it out?"

"I could," Phantom says, "but if they thought he'd stolen it from me, or taken it without my knowledge, they'd insist on reporting it."

"Right," Dirk says. "Yes, I can see your problem. Any sort of official investigation at all leads to some inconvenient questions for you."

He sits in silence for a minute, pensively stroking the cat, and Todd waits it out, watching Phantom get progressively twitchier.

"Had anything unusual or significant happened to either you or Steve right before the jewel went missing?" Dirk says, eventually.

"Nothing that I can think of," Phantom says.

"No odd encounters?" Dirk persists. "Old friends or enemies turning up out of the blue? No broken relationships?"

"Steve split up with his girlfriend a few weeks ago," Phantom says, like he's just suddenly remembering. For the eighth time since they entered the room, Todd fights not to roll his eyes. This guy is useless. "They were together for ages, but she dumped him when she found out he was cheating on her."

"He sounds like a real prince," Todd says, dryly.

"He always was something of an opportunist," Dirk says. "He doesn't strike me as the type to tell his girlfriend about his criminal activities, though. Especially not one he was cheating on. Above all else, Steve was practical."

"Is this the same Steve whose car you stole?" Todd asks.

"Yes," Dirk says, sounding puzzled. "He never liked me after that."

"He didn't trust you," Phantom says. "Always told me I shouldn't hang around you so much."

"Why are people always so suspicious of me?" Dirk wonders, taking a kipper out of his pocket.

"Wait a minute," Todd says, and Dirk looks away from the cat contentedly eating a kipper in his lap to look at him attentively. Todd stares at Phantom, cocking his head. Something's not right here, and a moment later he pinpoints what it is. "How did you even know that Dirk was back in the country?"

"Steve told me," Phantom says, looking confused, either by Todd's question or Dirk's mysterious supply of fish.

"Right," Todd says, "but how did _Steve_ know?"

"I dunno," Phantom says. "Steve just... knows stuff."

Todd turns to Dirk and raises his eyebrows significantly. Dirk looks at him, looks at Phantom, looks at the cat, and then looks back at Todd in polite confusion. Todd sighs.

"I think," he says, "we should meet this Steve guy."

"Well," Dirk says doubtfully, "he already knows what I look like, and he's already suspicious of me. I doubt he'd agree to meet. At least not without trying to kill me."

"Okay," Todd says, "so Phantom will help us out."

Phantom looks terrified. Todd ignores this.

"Steve is suspicious of you, not Phantom. He can use that against him," Todd continues. "Tell Steve he hired you as a private detective as a ruse to keep you close, find out where you're hiding the diamond. And then we can get close to Steve, figure out what _he_ knows."

"That's a good idea!" Dirk says, looking excited. "We'd be like spies! And Phantom would be like a double agent!"

Phantom squeaks.

"Come on, Phantom," Dirk says. "You can do it. Just tell Steve you think I'm up to something, and you want him to have the chance to size me up. Appeal to his ego."

"Wait," Todd says, "shit. What about the guitar pick?"

"What about it?" Dirk says.

"Well, Steve sent us that pick so we'd know the band was involved. He's going to know we're suspicious of him."

"So..." Dirk says, scrunching his face up in thought, "we tell Steve we think Phantom sent it to us! After all, you did think it was him at first, Todd."

"What?" Phantom says. "Wait, whose side am I on?"

"Look, no _look_ , it's perfectly straightforward," Dirk says. "You tell Steve you're suspicious of us, we tell Steve we're suspicious of you, which will keep Steve suspicious of us and not you, which will keep him from realizing that we're all three suspicious of Steve."

"Exactly," Todd says, ignoring Phantom's expression, which reminds Todd of his own expression for most of the Patrick Spring case. It's a little disconcerting to see it aimed at him. Maybe Todd really is spending too much time with Dirk. "Do you have any gigs coming up that we can maybe go to? You can tell Steve we're there to see if there's any shady characters following you around."

"Apart from us," Dirk adds.

"Right," Todd says.

"We're playing a Silver Anniversary tomorrow," Phantom says. "I can get you in, but you'll need to dress up. It's black tie." He pauses. "Also, I'm going to need you to write all that down."

*

 

"Looks like you were right about Phantom," Todd says, as they walk back to the Tube station.

Dirk raises his eyebrows in an expression of exaggerated surprise, ruining the effect completely by grinning like a loon.

"I'm sorry, Todd," he says, "could you possibly repeat that? I didn't quite catch it, but it had the rhythm and cadence of a moment of great wisdom and personal growth–"

"Shut up," Todd says, rolling his eyes. "I still don't like the guy. He pulled a gun on us, and the safety was off. He's irresponsible. And kind of whiny. But I think I can safely agree that he's not the brains of this operation."

"He wouldn't be the brains of his local knitting circle," Dirk says. "He's not a bad person. He just...blows with the wind. Steve was always one to take advantage of that."

"He still has a crush on you," Todd says. Dirk looks at him in surprise.

"Does he? Well, he should have tried not sneaking into my home and holding my best friend at gunpoint." He pauses. "Or pizza. I like when people buy me pizza."

"Dirk."

"I am, of course, kidding. It would take an extraordinary pizza indeed for me to forgive someone pointing a gun at you, Todd."

"Um. Good?" Todd says.

"Maybe the kind with the cheese in the crust," Dirk adds, smiling mischievously at him. Todd doesn't even have to pretend to smile back at him this time.

They're walking past an artfully run-down thrift store when Dirk stops in his tracks, staring in the window with wide eyes.

"What?" Todd says, tensing, and immediately scanning the window for death threats, homemade bombs, or stray cats. Suddenly he realizes what has Dirk transfixed. A bright orange, weather-beaten leather jacket.

"Todd, _look_ ," Dirk breathes, moving towards it as if in a trance.

"Dirk," Todd says. "Dirk, _no_."

"It's the same color as our rice cooker!" Dirk says, ecstatic.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I think I'm with the Great Zaganza on this one."

"Oh, what does he know?" Dirk says, touching the window reverently.

"Well, he's pretty good at predicting minor disasters," Todd says. Dirk looks away from the jacket long enough to raise his eyebrows at him.

"Do you genuinely think that my flat being set on fire is a _minor_ disaster?"

"You mean on an absolute scale, or relative to this jacket?"

"I'm buying it," Dirk says, decisively.

"Of course you are," Todd says.

Todd waits outside while Dirk buys the jacket. He's still pretty on edge and more than slightly aware that his bodyguard act probably won't do much good if someone actually attacks them, but he's unwilling to let his guard down anyway. He looks through the window and sees Dirk talking enthusiastically to the elderly lady behind the register, giving her two notes and–of course–a business card. He emerges a moment later, clutching the orange jacket to his chest.

"You didn't get a bag for it?" Todd asks, trying not to look directly at the thing.

"Of course not," Dirk says, struggling out of his navy jacket and putting the orange one on straight away. "I want to wear it now!"

"And what are you going to do with the other one?"

"Well, I'll simply..." Dirk looks at the jacket in his hands like it's a surprise kipper. "Hmmm."

Todd rolls his eyes.

"Why don't you wear it?" Dirk offers, holding the jacket out to Todd. "It's a bit chillier than when we left the hotel this morning. And it kind of goes with your outfit."

Todd looks down at himself. He's wearing a blue plaid shirt and a grey sweatshirt, and actually navy is a perfectly respectable jacket color by Dirk's standards.

"Fine," he says, taking the jacket from Dirk. "It is kind of cold."

He shrugs the jacket on. It's a little too big, but not ridiculously so. He adjusts the hood of his sweatshirt so it sits comfortably over the collar. Dirk beams at him.

"Look, Todd," he says, "we match! We should take one of those...selfie things."

"Absolutely not," Todd says.

"You promised Amanda you'd send her pictures of us in London," Dirk reminds him, and Todd wavers just long enough for Dirk to whip his phone out and open the camera.

"God," he mutters, feeling his face heat up slightly, but he doesn't protest as Dirk puts an arm around his shoulders and takes a picture of them in their matching jackets. The one he's wearing still smells very slightly of fish.

"Excellent," Dirk says, looking at the picture. "You look extremely grumpy–I assume that's what you were aiming for? Sort of a smoldering existential dread?"

"I assume you were going for "manically excited human jack-o-lantern"?" Todd asks, looking at the picture. Dirk's smile seems to take up a disproportionate amount of the screen.

"It's a timeless look," Dirk says, tapping away, presumably sending the picture to Amanda. He puts the phone back in his pocket and smiles at Todd like they're two normal sightseers that no one has tried to murder this week. "Speaking of timeless looks," he adds, "we need to rent a couple of tuxedos. Maybe I should go in, though. You don't exactly look like their typical customer."

"You're covered with cat hair," Todd tells him, "and you smell like old fish."

"Be that as it may," Dirk says loftily, brushing cat hair off of his jeans, "I spent three years at Cambridge University, an institution which instils in its students a healthy sense of respect for formalwear and pretending to have more money than they actually do. This is my wheelhouse."

"Fine," Todd says. "Just go plain black, Dirk. If you come out of there with an orange tuxedo, I'm sending you back in."

"Noted," Dirk says.

They end up standing for the whole Tube journey back, holding on to the one of the poles in the center of the crowded car and periodically knocking into each other with the sway and clatter of the train. Todd looks at Dirk's hand on the red pole, which clashes horribly with his new orange jacket, and Todd's hand next to his, swamped by Dirk's too-long navy sleeve. The incipient headache that's been crouching behind his eyes all day has subsided, and he feels tired and wrung out, but calmer. He closes his eyes and lets himself lean against Dirk's shoulder for the rest of the journey.

*

Todd is weirdly relieved to get back to their impersonal hotel room and close the door on the outside world. He sits on the edge of the bed, taking off his shoes, but not removing Dirk's jacket. He's still a little cold.

"This is step four," Dirk says, handing Todd one of the suit bags.

"Step four?" Todd repeats distractedly. He unzips the suit bag and looks at the black tux, standing up to hang it on the inside of the closet door.

"Step four," Dirk says, "of molding you into the perfect assistant."

"Oh right," Todd says. "The five step process. So what comes after tea-making?"

Dirk grins, puts his hand on Todd's shoulder and says, dramatically, "The art of disguise."

He takes his suit bag and goes into the bathroom to change, leaving the door open so they can keep talking.

"It's a tuxedo," Todd says, looking at it. "How is that a disguise? It doesn't even cover my face."

"Well, I asked at the rental place," Dirk calls from the bathroom, "but they said they didn't have any giraffe masks."

"Har har," Todd says. He touches the lapel of the suit. He's not exactly an expert on this stuff, but it seems good quality.

"Dirk," he asks, not really expecting an answer anymore, "how are you affording this? Wasn't it expensive?"

"It's only a rental," Dirk says. "Of course, ideally tuxedos should be _tailored_ for the perfect fit, but I think this will do for an evening."

"Of course," Todd mutters, folding his arms. He feels strangely intimidated by the idea of going to a fancy party, in London, in a tuxedo. It's not his scene, that's for sure. He would have said it wasn't Dirk's scene either, but at least Dirk has the polished accent for it, and apparently the educational background. Spending three years at Cambridge University, even if he did apparently get arrested during that time, somehow seems classier than dropping out of Seattle U to be in a punk band.

He tries to remember the last time he got a haircut.

"To return to my earlier point," Dirk calls from the bathroom, "the art of disguise is not always about hiding one's features. The people at this party have never seen us before, so all we have to do is blend into the crowd."

Todd doubts that Dirk has ever blended into a crowd in his life. He turns around, mouth open to say as much, and stops. Dirk is standing just outside the bathroom, adjusting the cuffs of his tux.

Todd stares. He'd known Dirk was tall, and slim, but for some reason his brain can't stop noticing these facts just now. Yeah, he thinks, as his brain nudges him frantically, it's Dirk. He's basically an excited giraffe. So what?

Just...dressed all in black, with the sunlight hitting his face just so...

 _Jesus_ , he thinks, appealing to his brain. What is this? His brain ignores him in favor of pointing out that Dirk's vest makes him appear very...tapered. Are tuxedos supposed to have vests? The one hanging up in the closet doesn't. But Dirk's suits him. A lot.

Dirk looks up at him and smiles, and Todd swallows.

"How do I look?" he asks, stretching his arms out, and just like that he's Todd's goofy best friend again. Todd walks over to him, his heart still beating a little faster than it probably should be, and pushes his arms gently down to his sides.

"You'll crease it," he says, smoothing out the fabric of Dirk's sleeves.

When he looks up, Dirk is staring at him. Maybe he over-smoothed that fabric. A little. He takes a step back, looking at Dirk's shiny shoes.

"It's good," he says. "You look...really good."

"Thank you, Todd," Dirk says, sounding completely lost and also kind of awkward. Todd looks back at his face and finds Dirk looking at him intently.

For all that Dirk is occasionally infuriating and the most comprehensive goofball Todd has ever met, sometimes there's something in the way he looks at Todd that makes it completely impossible to look away. He's noticed that before, he knows. Noticed it but not really registered it. He reaches up to adjust Dirk's bowtie.

"I guess I'd better try mine too," he says, trying for breezy and coming out kind of winded. Dirk's eyes are wide.

Todd grabs his tux and retreats into the bathroom. He has a feeling they have a more than typically interesting couple of days in store. He has a feeling that very interesting days may just be a feature of the rest of his life.

He looks in the bathroom mirror and catches himself smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's art of this chapter by several wonderful artists! Selfies and tuxedos seem to be what the public want, and who can blame them, eh?
> 
> Dirk and Todd in matching jackets:
> 
> By zhivchik, [here](http://zhivchik.tumblr.com/post/157612915501/i-will-roam-if-you-say-roam-by-lavellington-wip)
> 
> By aut-sappho, [here](http://vegasol.tumblr.com/post/160010743387/aut-sappho-i-wanted-to-draw-dirk-and-todd-from)
> 
> By squaresweet, here [here](http://squaresweet.tumblr.com/post/161768907104/look-todd-he-says-we-match-we-should-take)
> 
> Dirk and Todd looking dapper in their tuxedos:
> 
> by andy-allan-poe, [here](http://andy-allan-poe.tumblr.com/post/162656139292/i-would-like-lavellington-for-the-wonderful-007)
> 
> by jaywani, [here](https://jaywani.tumblr.com/post/162741257754/happy-happy-birthday-lavellington)
> 
> by luvbiz [here](https://luvbiz-moved.tumblr.com/post/166741242562/based-off-of-the-amazing-fic-i-will-roam-if-you)
> 
> Thank you all so much, I'm so flattered, and I love all of these beautiful creations!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A little faith, please, Todd," Dirk says. He bounces on his feet as the lift dings and the doors open onto the lobby. "I have a very good feeling about tonight."
> 
> "Great," Todd says. "Fantastic. Do you ever wonder if the phrase "tempting fate" was written with you in mind?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! Sorry about the delay on this one, Dirk was being a little shy. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the dghda fandom, particularly to zhivchik on tumblr, who's made some fantastic art of this fic, and is a sweetie.

Dirk can't sleep.

This isn't new, exactly. Ever since Friedkin took him from outside that diner, his sleep patterns have been slightly erratic in a way that reminds him of his teenage years, waking up with his heart pounding every five minutes, straining his ears for the sounds of black vans outside the window, or quiet footsteps beside his bed. But it's disheartening now to find himself staring exhaustedly at the ceiling, after beginning to find some rest again of late. Sharing a bed had been highly beneficial, he'd discovered. Over the last month, he'd even had the occasional lie-in, which felt like progress in a way that nothing else had. Waking up to find Todd next to him, mouth slightly open and his left arm thrown up above his head, or more recently, to find Todd awake and humming in the kitchen, making coffee, is something he's come to take for granted. It never really occurred to him that sharing a bed with Todd could be a source of worry in itself.

He looks to his left to see Todd with his face half-mashed into the well-stuffed hotel pillow, breathing softly. The streetlight filtering through the window makes everything look a dull yellow. His eyes trace the lines of Todd's face, and he wonders what on earth is happening.

His friendship with Todd has lately become the most reliable thing in his life. It seems that the moment he relaxes into something good, the universe is determined to shake his confidence again. Todd had stood in front of him yesterday–very close, close enough to feel his breath on Dirk's face as he adjusted his bowtie–and for the first time in a long time, looked at him with uncertainty in his eyes. Dirk, although he is no expert in these matters, had received the impression that perhaps they were standing too close, that perhaps Todd needed to take a step back for some reason. He'd seemed fine afterwards. He'd seemed happier, even, his bad mood from earlier in the day completely gone. But something is still...peculiar.

He's past the point of worrying that Todd is going to leave. Todd wants to be Dirk's friend. He makes him tea, he interrogates suspects with him, he saves his life over and over. He buys him pizza. Dirk is slowly adjusting to the idea that this is one thing that won't be pulled from under him, and he is unspeakably, desperately grateful. The question isn't whether Todd will leave. The only question is how Dirk can ever repay him for staying.

If he were the kind of person who habitually made friends and managed to keep them, this would probably be easier. Somehow, he's become so comfortable with Todd over the last couple of months he's managed to forget that the most longstanding friendship he had prior to this one was with his pet fish. That had been less satisfying, and certainly more one-sided in the conversational sense, but considerably less confusing.

Todd likes the cases. That's not in question. He doesn't like being almost murdered, which is fair, but he enjoys the excitement, the chase. He likes getting to be brave, and he's very good at it. Dirk's tendency to get dragged into bizarre situations gives Todd a sense of purpose, and Dirk is happy to have a partner, someone to share his work with him. So far, so good. Todd _dislikes_ people lying to him. Dirk found that one out the hard way. Todd had forgiven him, though, and given him a birthday present. The fact that he hadn't realised it was his birthday doesn't make it count any less as far as Dirk is concerned. His Mexican Funeral t-shirt is his favourite item of clothing, tied with his new orange jacket. He'd been wearing it to bed every night back home, but there's no washer or dryer in this hotel room, so he'd had to hand wash it last night. It's currently drip-drying over the bath.

He'd gotten Todd a birthday present too, of course, but he doesn't think anything can ever repay him for that t-shirt. It had been a part of Todd's past, an invitation to be a part of a team. Dirk doesn't know that he even owns anything that would be half as meaningful. Maybe he could put Todd's name on the brass plaque, he thinks, and promptly dismisses the idea. Gently and Brotzman's Detective Agency doesn't have the same ring to it. Maybe he could get Todd his own business cards printed.

Todd makes a discontented noise into the pillow. His eyebrows do that bendy thing that when he's awake, means he's annoyed or confused about something. When he's asleep it means he's having a nightmare. Dirk absently reaches over and smoothes his thumb across Todd's eyebrow, and then in between his eyebrows, down the bridge of his nose. He's not sure why this works, but it always does. Todd's forehead smoothes out and he sighs, his eyelid twitching. Dirk takes his hand back.

Maybe he could get Todd a new keyboard to go with the guitar. Of course, he doesn't want Todd to think he's trying to buy his friendship. Maybe he could get up early every morning and make Todd his coffee the way he likes it. That would be thoughtful _and_ practical.

Or maybe, he forces himself to think, he has been getting too close. Maybe the best thing to do, the selfless thing to do, would be to step back. He's the one who had started sleeping in Todd's flat. He's the one who had booked them a double room in this hotel without ever asking how Todd felt about it. It's probably not usual for friends to share a bed. Maybe Todd doesn't know how to tell Dirk that he needs more space. Maybe Dirk can make him happy, if he just steps back a tiny bit. Sleeps in his own apartment. Makes his own dinner and eats it by himself occasionally. He's been eating and sleeping alone for most of his life, it shouldn't be too difficult. He blinks rapidly. He's tired and his eyes ache. He checks his phone. 4:07am.

Across from him, Todd stirs, and Dirk shoves his phone under his pillow. He squeezes his eyes shut and pretends to be asleep.

"Dirk," Todd says, softly. "I know you're awake."

Dirk cracks an eye open. "So are you," he points out, feeling a little childish.

Todd doesn't answer. His eyes move slowly across Dirk's face. Dirk holds his breath.

"Have you been crying?" Todd asks, not quite whispering.

"No," Dirk says instantly. "What kind of weird question is that, Todd? I'm just _tired_. My eyes feel funny. I'm sorry if I woke you by thinking too loudly. That's happened before, you know."

Todd raises his eyebrows. "Who else have you been sleeping with?"

"I meant at uni," Dirk said. "Steve used to complain that I was the noisiest sleeper he'd ever met."

Todd closes his eyes, and for a second, Dirk thinks he's fallen asleep again.

"Steve?" he says, after a moment. "The Steve who's in Phantom's band? The Steve whose car you stole? The Steve who tried to kill us?"

"Yes," Dirk says, "he was my roommate in my third year, didn't I mention?"

"No," Todd says, "you didn't."

"Oh, well. I never liked him much. I tried to avoid the room when he was there with his friends. They all used to make fun of my fashion sense, if you can believe it."

Todd makes a non-committal noise, looking amused and pained at the same time. Dirk huffs and squeezes his eyes shut.

"I'm going to sleep now," he announces.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Todd asks after a second.

"No," Dirk says, opening his eyes again. "I'm just very, very awake tonight. I feel like my brain has been drinking double espressos when I wasn't looking."

"You're worrying about something," Todd says. "The case?"

"Not exactly. I was thinking about what to get you for your birthday."

Todd stares at him, half his face in shadow. "Dirk, I just had my birthday. Last month."

"I know," Dirk says. "I'm planning ahead for next year. Maybe–"

"It's too late for maybes," Todd interrupts him. He squints towards the window. "Or maybe too early." He pauses for a second, and then reaches out, slipping his fingers in between Dirk's and loosely clasping his hand. "Go back to sleep."

Dirk stares at their hands. When he looks back at Todd's face, Todd is watching him. He gives Todd's hand a cautious squeeze and Todd smiles drowsily.

"We'll talk tomorrow," he says, and it sounds like a promise.

"Right, of course." Dirk says, and even though it's after four in the morning, he adds, "Goodnight, Todd."

*

When he wakes up, it's bright outside, and Todd is sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, with his hand on Dirk's shoulder.

"Dirk," he says, "hey."

"I'm awake," Dirk says groggily. "What's happening?"

"Nothing," Todd says. "I was going to go out and get the paper, maybe some decent coffee. Do you want anything?"

His hand is still resting on Dirk's shoulder, his thumb moving back and forth. It's...new. Dirk tries to evaluate it alongside Todd's strange mood of the day before, but either he's still half asleep or Todd is being even more confusing than usual, because it makes no sense whatsoever. It feels nice though.

"Tea," he says. "And a pastry."

"Okay," Todd says, smiling, and Dirk smiles back before he remembers his plan.

"No, wait!" he says, struggling up onto one elbow. "I have to go. To get the..." he waves his hand. "...things. The coffee. You should stay here."

"Why?" Todd asks. His eyes keep darting up, and he looks like he's trying not to laugh at Dirk's bedhead.

"Because," Dirk says, rubbing his eyes, "You have been an exemplary partner this week, with all the life-saving and whatnot, and I should be the one bringing _you_ hot beverages. I decided, last night."

"When you were trying to pick my next birthday present?" Todd says, reaching up to smooth down Dirk's hair.

"Erm," Dirk says, feeling flustered and slightly confused by all the _touching_ going on, "right before that, actually. On a related note, how do you feel about having your own business cards?"

Todd grins at him. "Well, if you're going to put _partner_ on them–"

"I don't think you're quite there yet," Dirk says. "You're still on step four of your assistant training, Todd. Best not run before you can walk."

"But you just called me your partner," Todd says, still fixing Dirk's hair, and looking rather too mischievous for this time of the morning. "You said I'd been an exemplary partner this week."

"Ah," Dirk says. "Slip of the tongue?"

"I don't think so," Todd says, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "You said partner. You can't just take it back."

"Fine," Dirk says. "I'll promote you to partner once you've completed step five."

"What's step five?" Todd asks, finally withdrawing his hand from Dirk's head.

"I'll tell you," Dirk says, "once you've completed step four."

"Fine," Todd says, rolling his eyes. "Well, I hope a lowly assistant can remember to get you a tea and a pastry. I might come back with a bottle of water and a banana."

Dirk sits up straight in horror. "You _wouldn't_."

"I don't know what I might do," Todd says. "Thinking about this promotion is stressing me out."

"You're much more likely to get promoted if you keep me happy," Dirk tells him. Todd looks at him strangely.

"I'll do my best," he says, quietly, and Dirk feels the easy banter slip out of reach. He stares back at Todd, unsure what to say. Todd's eyes flick over his face and he opens his mouth briefly, and then closes it again.

"I'll get the coffee," he says, and his smile looks different than before. "I'm not letting you out of the building until we've read today's horoscope."

"Okay," Dirk says. "Are you sure you're alright? You seem...preoccupied."

"I'm good," Todd says. "I'm actually...really good. I'll be back soon." He touches Dirk's hand briefly, then smiles at him and leaves.

Dirk looks after him in complete and utter confusion.

*

Just as Dirk is fixing his tie there's a knock at the door of their room. He grins and goes to open it. Spending so long without a functioning lock on his door has made Todd very bad at remembering his keys.

He swings the door open and finds himself face to face with Phantom.

"Oh," he says, surprised. Phantom looks out of place and scruffy and nervous against the smooth, beige walls.

"Hi, Dirk," he says. "Can I come in?"

Dirk eyes him warily. "Do you have a gun?"

"No," Phantom says, wincing. "I said I was sorry about that."

"Well," Dirk says. "Okay, then. But I warn you, I'm perfectly capable of defending myself. And if you try to bite me again, I won't be so forgiving."

Phantom's face turns bright red as he shuffles past him. Dirk sits on the end of the bed and Phantom sits in the chair by the dresser. There's an awkward silence. Dirk's never been good with awkward silences, but he's finding he has no particular desire to break this one. He's not entirely sure why Phantom is here.

"Where's the other guy?" Phantom says, looking around as if he thinks Todd might jump out of the wardrobe.

"Todd went to get coffee," Dirk says. "He'll be back in a minute. Was there something you wanted from us?"

"Oh," Phantom says, "yeah. Well, my parents are still offering that reward, and I thought..." he stops, and scuffs at a stain on his jeans with his thumbnail. Dirk thinks it looks like baked beans.

"I thought maybe," Phantom starts again, "when all this is over, if you get the diamond back and everything...I'll have more money then. And if you needed help, with your detective agency, I could be your backer."

"Oh," Dirk says. This is most definitely not what he was expecting, and he can't help but feel a little pleased. That's two offers of financial backing from two separate people, in the space of a few months. Granted, this one is more than a bit dodgy, but it's flattering nonetheless. Obviously he comes off as more competent than he sometimes feels, if this many people are lining up to invest in him.

"Well," he says diplomatically, "that's a very interesting proposition, but my agency is based in America now. In Seattle."

Phantom makes a face. "Come on, Dirk. London is your home. You know people here. You've been solving cases here for years."

"Yes," Dirk says, "thank you for noticing. I have, on occasion, been the scourge of the London underworld. But my next step is to move to Seattle. I'm quite firm on the issue, I'm afraid."

"It's because of that Todd guy, isn't it?"

Dirk shrugs.

"It's partly because of Todd," he says. "But not entirely. I have other friends there, too. And another willing venture capitalist. I like it there."

"Sounds to me like you're moving your entire life to another country to keep your friend happy."

"So what if I am?" Dirk says, annoyed. "He's done an awful lot to keep me happy, and it's working pretty well for us, actually."

"I don't understand it," Phantom says, looking frustrated. "He's always standing there, looking all grumpy, rolling his eyes at you whenever you try to talk to me, or make friends with my cat."

"He keeps me on track," Dirk says, willing Todd to come back soon. "And of course he's grumpy around you, the first time you met him you had a gun at his back. And I'll have you know that Todd _likes_ cats, and he likes me too, and he's never threatened to shoot me, so–"

"I bet he's called you weird, though," Phantom says, leaning forward. Dirk instinctively leans back a little. Phantom smells of expensive aftershave and cheap cigarettes. "I bet he doesn't trust you. What you can do."

"He does trust me," Dirk says, clenching and unclenching his hands, and feeling horribly like a small child, insisting there had been some kind of mistake, that of course his mother would come back for him, _someone_ would come looking. "He told me so."

"I heard that," Phantom says. "In the hallway, outside of your flat. It was a throwaway phrase. You always took that kind of thing too much to heart."

"You don't even _know_ him," Dirk says, sharply. He hates feeling this way, completely and utterly hates it. His eyes dart between the door and his shoes. His hands twitch in his lap. He stands up.

"I think you should go," he says, forcing himself to look steadily into Phantom's face. Make eye contact, he thinks. Stand firm. Don't engage. The more you argue, the more they have to use against you.

"Dirk," Phantom says, softly, standing up so they're face to face. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just want you to know that you've always had a friend in me. I'll cut Steve off in a heartbeat if you want me to, you and I can share the money."

"Doesn't sound like you're a paragon of friendship yourself," Dirk says, crossing his arms. He wishes, strangely, that he was wearing his new jacket.

"Steve doesn't care about me," Phantom says. "He just wants the money."

"I think you should go," Dirk repeats loudly, just as the door swings open and Todd walks through, carrying two cups in a holder and a paper bag. There's a newspaper folded under his arm. His eyes take in Phantom, and Dirk's defensive posture, and his face darkens, his whole body tensing.

"What the hell is he doing here?" he says, deceptively calm. Phantom takes a step back from Dirk, holding his hands up.

"I just wanted to talk to Dirk," he says. "See if there'd been any leads on the case."

"Since _yesterday_?" Todd says, placing the coffee and the bag on the dresser. Dirk instinctively moves so that Todd is standing between him and Phantom. Todd catches it, and his expression of precarious calm falters for a second. He clenches his jaw.

"Dirk," he says. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, thank you Todd," Dirk says, managing a smile. "Phantom was just about to leave."

"I'll show him out," Todd says, grabbing Phantom's shoulder and yanking him towards the door.

"Dirk!" Phantom says, looking panicked.

"No, shut up," Todd says. "Don't look at him, look at me."

Phantom looks at him. His face isn't red with embarrassment anymore, Dirk notes. In fact, he's seen corpses with rosier complexions.

"From now on," Todd says, "you don't talk to Dirk unless I'm here, you understand? Not about the case, not about anything. You don't show up here unannounced. You don't hang around outside waiting for me to leave. You want him, you get me. We're a package deal. Got it?"

"Dirk can speak for himself," Phantom says, defiantly. The effect is ruined by his lip trembling. "He can talk to me if he wants."

"Funny," Dirk says, "you didn't seem interested in what I had to say when I asked you to leave. Twice."

Todd's grip on Phantom's shoulder tightens and Phantom tries to squirm away.

"Well," Todd says, "I guess the third time's the charm."

He frog marches Phantom to the door and opens it.

"Bye, asshole," he says, and pushes Phantom through the door. He tries to slam it, but it whooshes along the carpet quietly and clicks shut politely, as if it disapproves of this kind of carry on in a civilised establishment. Dirk lets out a long breath.

"Are you okay?" Todd asks, moving towards him and putting his hands on his upper arms. "What did he want?"

"Fine," Dirk says, completely unable to stop smiling at Todd like an idiot. "Thank you. I could have got rid of him myself, you know."

"I know that," Todd says. "He's not exactly James Bond. But he was bothering you."

"He said some...things," Dirk says. "It doesn't matter. I didn't listen."

"What did he say?" Todd asks. Dirk can feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt.

"He told me I should stay in London," Dirk says. "He offered to make an investment in my detective agency."

Todd drops his hands and takes a step back.

"What did you say?"

"I told him I wasn't interested?" Dirk says, his voice rising slightly at the end of the sentence. He's not sure what Todd is asking him. "My agency is based in Seattle now. I already have a financial backer. And an assistant."

He smiles tentatively at Todd. Todd relaxes a little and one corner of his mouth tips up slightly.

"Okay," he says. "Good. I got your tea."

"And pastry?" Dirk says, hopefully.

"Yeah," Todd says, smiling again. "There's a Danish in the bag."

"Thank you, Todd," Dirk says, sitting contentedly at the round table by the window with his breakfast. "You're well on your way to convincing me that you're partner material."

"Um. Good," Todd says. He walks past Dirk to the other chair, brushing his hand over Dirk's shoulder. When he sits down, his face is a little pink.

"What did the paper say?" Dirk asks, giving up trying to interpret Todd's bizarre behaviour.

"Nothing helpful," Todd says. He unfolds the paper and reads, " _Keep in mind the possibility of a swift exit_."

"Hmmm," Dirk says. "Do you think it was about Phantom?"

"Probably not," Todd says. "The others have all been annoyingly cryptic up until they were completely obvious. If there's any room for doubt, I'd say something is still coming."

"Splendid," Dirk says. "I suppose we have an interesting evening in store."

Todd grins at him.

*

They decide to get a cab from the hotel to Phantom's party, which it turns out is in the Ritz.

" _The_ Ritz?" Todd says again, as they walk into the lift. Dirk bats Todd's hand away from where he's fiddling with his bowtie.

"Leave that alone," he says, "it's fine. And yes. The Ritz. There's only one in London, that I'm aware of."

"Just how knowledgeable are you about fancy hotels?" Todd says, glaring at him, but leaving the bowtie alone.

"Not very," Dirk admits. "Probably less so than you, considering you worked in the Perriman Grand."

Todd makes a discontented noise. He moves to put his hands in his pockets, then stops himself and holds them awkwardly at his sides.

"I hate wearing this," he says, his eyebrows approaching catastrophic levels of bendiness. Dirk resists the urge to reach over and smooth them out.

"I think you look very dashing," he says. Todd looks at him strangely. "Just like a secret agent."

"Thanks," Todd says, his face relaxing ever so slightly. "You too. You know, until you open your mouth."

"Charming," Dirk says, "as ever, Todd. Save that sparkling wit for all the elderly dowagers who will no doubt want to make your acquaintance later."

" _Dowagers_?" Todd says, laughing. "Is that a thing? Will there be any Dukes there? Or knights?"

"It's a party at the Ritz," Dirk says. "There may even be some distant heirs to the throne."

"Seriously?" Todd says.

"I don't know," Dirk says, "maybe. At the very least, everyone will probably be disgustingly rich. Don't ask them how much their jewellery cost, they _hate_ that."

"Oh God," Todd says. "I can't believe we're gonna get kicked out of the Ritz."

"A little faith, please, Todd," Dirk says. He bounces on his feet as the lift dings and the doors open onto the lobby. "I have a very good feeling about tonight."

"Great," Todd says. "Fantastic. Do you ever wonder if the phrase "tempting fate" was written with you in mind?"

As they walk across the lobby, Dirk notices they're getting much fewer dodgy looks and a great deal more polite smiling from both the staff and their fellow guests in their current attire. Maybe they should wear tuxedos all the time when they're on cases, he thinks, as Todd hails a cab. Todd would _hate_ that.

They're sitting in the back of the cab in comfortable silence when Todd says, "Three years at Cambridge."

"Hmm?" Dirk says, turning to look at him. It's dark out, and Todd is lit in flashes by streetlamps and headlights and shop windows. He really does look quite dashing in his tuxedo.

"You said you spent three years at Cambridge," Todd says. "Phantom said you got arrested while you were there. I'm guessing you didn't get to finish your degree?"

Dirk looks back out the window.

"You said Steve was your roommate in your third year," Todd continues. "And you said he was the type to take advantage of people."

Dirk sighs. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm wondering if he had anything to do with you being arrested," Todd says.

"Sort of," Dirk says. "But in fairness, I probably shouldn't have stolen his car."

"Is that what you got arrested for?"

"No," Dirk says. "Steve said he wouldn't report me if I...helped him with something."

"Helped him with what?" Todd is trying to sound casual, but he's just a little too still.

"There were rumours about me," Dirk says, trying not to fidget. "That I was..."

"Psychic?" Todd says, softly.

"Yes," Dirk says. "Total nonsense, of course. But Steve said we might as well make use of it. He spread a rumour that I talked in my sleep, and that I used to mumble the questions from the end of term exam papers. I did some research, mocked up some likely questions, and he started taking money from people to peek at my predictions. I told everyone it was rubbish, but the more I told them, the more they seemed to believe it."

"So what happened?"

"I got everything right," Dirk says. "Every single question. It was, now that I think of it, a little odd."

Todd says nothing for a few seconds, and Dirk stares out the window some more.

"Did you tell anyone? That it was his idea?"

"Of course not," Dirk says. "Then he'd have told them that I stole his car, and that wouldn't have been much better."

"So he just got away with it," Todd says.

"I suppose so," Dirk says. "He had to explain to his parents why he was suddenly driving a green Ford Cortina, but I understand they had a "boys will be boys" attitude about the whole thing."

"That bastard," Todd says, and Dirk looks at him in surprise. Todd looks truly angry.

"It's not as though I was completely innocent," Dirk says. "I chose his car to take because I already thought he was an arsehole. And I did sort of enjoy fleecing his obnoxious friends. Until it blew up in my face."

"So what happened to you?"

"I spent the night in jail, and then someone came and bailed me out."

"Who?" Todd says, and then his face darkens. " _Don't_ say Phantom."

Dirk snorts. "No," he says, "not Nick. Actually, it was Gary."

" _Gary_?"

"Yes," Dirk says, remembering emerging from his police cell to see Gary standing at the reception desk in a red smoking jacket, with Petunia's predecessor Estella the falcon perched on his shoulder. The pale, weedy desk sergeant on duty had been terrified of him. "I'm still not sure if he felt bad for me, or just wanted to annoy Steve. Either way, he paid for my bail, and my legal representation. I probably would have gone to prison if it weren't for him. He took me for chips after."

"Huh," Todd says. "I was all set to hate that guy."

Dirk smiles at him.

"Yes," he says, "well, people can surprise you from time to time."

*

The party is in one of the Ritz's more modest function rooms, with an elegant sign outside that reads _Smith/Grau Silver Wedding Anniversary_. Dirk gives their names confidently to the well-dressed man at the door, and tries to pretend Todd isn't standing stiffly next to him like he's being walked to his own execution.

"Loosen up," he advises him, as they walk through the double doors. There's a stage at the opposite end of the large, high-ceilinged room, and red velvet and white fairy lights everywhere. "You look conspicuous."

"Telling me that is not going to help me loosen up," Todd mutters, pulling at his collar.

Dirk slaps his hand away again.

"Stop that," he says sternly. "Nobody will look twice at you if you just relax a little."

"I should have got my hair cut," Todd says, looking around at the other guests. "I should have _shaved_."

"Don't do that," Dirk says. "I've got used to you looking this way, it would throw me off."

"Seeing me in a tux doesn't throw you off?"

"Of course not," Dirk says. "Does seeing me in a tux throw you off?"

Todd looks briefly even more cornered.

" _No_ ," he says, "but you're comfortable in yours."

"Exactly!" Dirk says. "You're just too aware of what you're wearing. If you're nervous, just picture yourself in your underwear."

Todd shoots him a look that was probably meant to be sceptical, but comes off rather panicked.

"Or... different clothes," Dirk amends. "If you prefer."

"Hey," Todd says, looking momentarily startled out of his edginess, "it's your friend. From the café."

He nods across the room and Dirk follows his gaze, confused.

"Cathy!" he says. He almost doesn't recognise her in an expensive looking red dress, instead of her usual black shirt and apron. "I wonder what she's doing here."

"Stupid question, I know," Todd says, "but do you think this is connected?"

"I suppose it must be," Dirk says. "Let's go and talk to her."

He makes a beeline across the room to Cathy, who is sipping champagne and looking wildly unimpressed by the grandeur all around her. Todd makes a noise behind him and then jogs to catch up, almost knocking over a waiter with a tray of drinks.

"Sorry!" he says. Dirk stops briefly to snag two champagne glasses off the tray for them. He hands one to Todd.

"Underwear," he advises, and walks over to Cathy.

"Hi, Cathy!" he says brightly. She looks at him, seeming mildly surprised.

"Dirk!" She gives him a once over. "My, don't you clean up well? And so does your _friend_ ," she adds, grinning at Todd.

"What, um," Todd says, a little high pitched. He coughs. "What are you doing here?"

"It's my parents' silver wedding anniversary," Cathy says. "What are you two doing here? Gatecrashing?"

"Sort of," Dirk says. "We know the band."

Her expression darkens. "You know Steve?"

"Vaguely. We were at university together. How do _you_ know Steve?"

"We were engaged," Cathy says, looking sort of disgusted at the memory. "We broke up about a month ago, but I'd already booked the band to play tonight, and my mum loves them, so I couldn't cancel. I'm just planning on giving him daggers all night."

Dirk gives Todd a significant look. Todd raises his eyebrows in return. Dirk purses his lips.

"What the hell are you two doing?" Cathy enquires politely. "Is it a mime?"

"It's a private conversation," Dirk says. "Did Steve give you any jewellery before you dumped him?"

"No," she says, "he was too cheap for that. How did you know I dumped _him_?"

"Phantom said his girlfriend split up with him a few weeks ago."

"Who's Phantom?"

"Bassist," Todd says, pointing at the stage where the band is setting up. Phantom is doing something twiddly with a bass guitar, and someone is setting up a drum kit. Cathy turns, not very subtly, to look.

"Dirk!" she says, grabbing his arm. "It's that bloke who was hanging around the cafe looking for you!"

"Oh," Dirk says, "I know. He wanted to...ask me something. It's all been sorted out now, kind of."

"You are, and I want you to absorb the full impact of this statement, the dodgiest person I've ever met."

"Didn't you ever meet Phantom?" Todd says. "If he was in your fiancé's band?"

"No," she says, "Steve was always a bit weird about stuff like that. I never met his parents, either. He was at my flat once when my mum texted she was coming over, and he practically climbed out of the window to avoid an introduction. He probably wouldn't have agreed to play tonight if he wasn't so broke all the time."

"Did he react badly when you split up with him?" Dirk asks. "Phantom said he cheated on you."

"Dirk," Todd says, in his most long-suffering tone. Cathy looks offended. Maybe Dirk should have let Todd handle this portion of the investigation. He hopes nobody slaps anybody.

"Cheating on me?" Cathy says, slamming her champagne glass down on a nearby table. "Is that what he's telling people? I broke it off because he's a self-obsessed arsehole. Exactly the type of arsehole who would think it was somehow impressive to pretend he cheated on someone."

"Yes," Dirk says, "that does seem an odd thing to do."

"Men!" Cathy says, and Dirk can't help but agree.

"And then, I started seeing someone new and he kept following us around. Showing up to peer in the window at work like some kind of Dickensian street urchin. He even followed me to her flat once. I think he took photos."

There's an awkward silence during which Dirk wishes he had brought one of his female friends. He feels that his gender is rather lacking in credibility just now.

"Dirk stole his car once," Todd offers. Cathy thaws slightly.

"Nice one," she says, approvingly. "Tell me you rammed it into a tree."

"I traded it for a green Ford Cortina belonging to a cryptozoologist named Jeremy," Dirk says.

"Even better," Cathy says. "I still have his favourite Bowie record, but I think your story wins."

There's a loud, unpleasant whistling noise from the microphone on the stage, and they all turn to look, Todd wincing. Steve is standing behind the mic, holding a guitar and looking almost exactly as Dirk remembers him. Phantom is holding his bass, staring at the ground like a sulky teenager forced to spend the evening at a family party. Dirk doesn't recognise the drummer or the keyboard player.

"Good evening, everyone," Steve says, pitching his voice low like a late night radio DJ. "We're Soup and Fish. We're honoured to be here tonight to celebrate the Silver Anniversary of David and Alba. We hope you enjoy yourselves."

He looks at Phantom and nods, and they start playing a song Dirk doesn't know. Todd snorts.

"What?" Dirk says.

"Frankie Valli," Todd says, apparently thinking this is sufficient explanation. When Dirk looks back at the stage, Phantom is looking at them. He turns back to Todd.

"Drink your champagne," he says. "We're supposed to be blending in. You're doing terribly at step four."

Todd shrugs and takes a sip from his glass.

"You're the boss," he says.

*

Todd doesn't relax as the evening wears on. In fact, Dirk thinks, as he chats amiably with Cathy's grandmother, he seems to be even more tense.

"Catherine almost got married last month," the old woman is saying, "but she changed her mind. She's always been very changeable. I never even met the chap."

"I've met him," Dirk says. "She made a good decision, I think."

"And what about you, dear?" Cathy's grandmother says, peering at Todd. "Any wedding bells in your future?"

Todd looks startled.

"Oh, no. No, ma'am," he says. "I don't..."

"Well," she says, "you can't keep this charming young man waiting forever." She smiles at Dirk and pats his arm. Todd goes bright red.

"Of course," she continues, "you young people always think you have all the time in the world."

"How old were you?" Dirk asks, resting his elbows on the cream linen tablecloth. "When you got married?"

"Twenty one," she says, "and I haven't regretted it a moment in my life. Of course, we were very lucky. It's not everyone who can spend every day together the way we have. We've hardly spent a night apart for our whole marriage."

"That's...nice," Todd says, still a little pink around the face. "How did you meet?"

"He broke into my house," she says, dreamily.

"Oh," Dirk says, "that's funny. That's how Todd and I met, sort of."

"I threw a book at him," she says, smiling.

"I threw a shoe at Dirk," Todd says, smiling back.

"It hurt," Dirk tells her, but he can't keep up the faux indignation when Todd looks like he's having fun for the first time all night.

"Well," she says, "that's what you get. Why couldn't you just tell the boy you liked him? Ask him out for a drink?"

"We're not...it was complicated," Dirk says, deciding not to bring time travel into the story just this once.

"It always is," she says knowledgeably. She turns to Todd. "You look after that boy, he clearly doesn't have the good sense God gave a lemming."

"I will," Todd says, grinning.

"Well, I like that," Dirk says, as she totters off to another table. "I had reasons, you know. I'm not your barmy husband."

"Well," Todd says, "if you want to follow her and tell her a future version of yourself stopped you on the way to a crime scene and told you to break into my apartment, be my guest. I don't think it'll help us blend in."

"You're probably right," Dirk says. "Maybe–"

"Hello, Dirk," someone says behind him, and he turns around.

"Steve," he says, standing up. "Good to see you."

He feels Todd go rigid beside him.

"This is my friend Todd," he says. "He's assisting with the investigation."

Steve nods at Todd and Todd glares at him. Dirk sighs internally.

"Found anything useful?" Steve asks. Up close, he looks a little older, which makes sense, but he still has the same dark, slicked back hair and shifty, darting eyes that Dirk remembers. His suit doesn't fit properly.

"Not as yet," Dirk says. "We're keeping our eyes peeled."

"Well," Steve says, "I don't think Cathy's grandma nicked it."

"Probably not," Dirk concedes. "But we have to blend in."

Steve draws himself up a little in that way he has, looking down his nose at them both. The girls in uni had gone mad for Steve, but Dirk had always been a little put off by his expression. Supercilious, one might say, if they were being kind. He looks at them now as if they were an indifferent vintage he'd nicked from his parents' wine cellar.

"I told Nick it was a waste of time bringing you in," he says. "All you ever did was play silly buggers. And I know you stole those exam papers, just like you stole my Mercedes."

"I only admit to _one_ of those things," Dirk says. "And anyway, that was years ago, and the exam thing was your idea in the first place."

Steve takes a step towards him, and Todd takes a step forward. Steve looks at him incredulously.

"You want to take me on, mate," he says, clearly making an effort to sound like he hadn't been raised in a house that had its own lake, "be my guest."

Dirk looks around and sees Phantom heading towards them anxiously.

"Steve," he says, leaning closer, "I know you don't like me. But I also know that Phantom is hiding something, even if we're not sure what it is exactly. If you want us to find out, starting a fight in the Ritz is maybe not the best route to go."

Steve glances at Phantom, and then back at Dirk. He seems to have forgotten Todd is there.

"I could make Nick talk myself," he says.

"And yet you haven't," Dirk points out. "If you intimidate him too much, he'll just find the diamond and bring it back to his parents himself. He'd probably rather tell them the truth than have you blackmailing him. And once they get behind him, you won't have a chance of turning him in. The police listen to people like them."

Phantom is getting closer to them, edging his way apologetically past a group of middle aged women in sparkly dresses.

"Let us handle this," Dirk says. He looks at Todd for support.

"He trusts us," Todd says. He still looks angry, but at least his hands are no longer curled into fists. "Or Dirk, at least. If he had help, we'll figure it out."

"Steve," Phantom pants, approaching them. "We have to go back on."

"Okay," Steve says, looking between Dirk and Todd. "Let's go."

They turn and walk back to the stage, Phantom looking back over his shoulder a couple of times.

"What a dick," Todd says, glaring after Steve.

"Yes," Dirk says, "I'm inclined to agree with you there. He always was a dick, in fact."

Todd looks at him and laughs, and then grins at his feet as if he hadn't quite meant to do that.

"Good to know you draw the line somewhere," he says, ruefully. Dirk frowns.

"What does that mean?"

"Well," Todd says, "some people have been pretty shitty to you since we got here, and you just seem to forgive them so easily. I mean, what does it take for you to stop being friends with someone?"

"I'm not sure I understand you," Dirk says, slowly. "If you're talking about Gary, and Phantom, they're not my friends really. Not like you are."

Todd looks at him uncertainly.

"What about me?" he asks, and Dirk finally feels like they're getting to the crux of the matter.

"What _about_ you?" he says, completely at sea. He can tell this is important to Todd, but he quite simply doesn't understand the question. "You solve cases with me, you buy me pizza, you save my life once a week. You're nothing like them. You're nothing like anyone."

"See," Todd says, "you say that, but I've said some pretty shitty things to you too. I hope you know I..." he trails off, frowning down at his shoes. Dirk reaches over and touches his eyebrow. Todd slowly raises his head and stares at him.

"Your eyebrows," Dirk says, "they've gone all...bendy."

"I don't think you're a monster," Todd blurts, and Dirk drops his hand.

"Oh," he says, stupidly.

"I hope you already knew that," Todd says. "I shouldn't have said it. I was a jerk."

Dirk opens his mouth to say that it was nothing, that he's already forgotten about it, but that's not quite true. Todd is watching him, his hands clenched again.

"I know," he says at last. "I forgave you, because you forgave me. I think we've been doing a better job lately."

Todd smiles at him like Dirk has never seen him smile before, and for a moment he forgets they're in a fancy hotel, forgets they're on a case, forgets that his old roommate wants to kill him over a stolen diamond. The knot of worry and fear inside him that he's been ignoring like a bad case of heartburn disappears, and he feels his shoulders rise like someone has inflated a balloon in his chest. He smiles back.

*

Dirk is talking to Cathy's extremely boring uncle Luiz about gardening tips when he realises that Todd hasn't come back from the bar. He looks around, searching for Todd's brown hair amid the crowd.

"Would you excuse me?" he says to Luiz, who nods affably and advises Dirk to keep his perennials covered this winter to avoid frostbite. Dirk promises he will, and tries to look casual as he does a lap around the room, looking for Todd. His stomach is in knots again. There's a DJ playing old rock and roll songs now, and he can't see Steve or Phantom anywhere. He bites his lip and moves towards the corridor to the left of the bar. Maybe Todd just went to the loo.

It's quieter out here, and Dirk's ears are ringing slightly as he walks along the springy carpet. He rounds a corner and almost runs into Phantom, who looks even paler and twitchier than usual.

"Where's Todd?" Dirk says, before Phantom can speak.

"He's talking to Steve," Phantom says, gesturing behind him, "out back. I don't think we should–"

Dirk pushes past him, not bothering to wait for the end of his sentence, and through the discreet, non-descript black door. He steps into an empty carpark, with a dirty white van idling under a single streetlamp, and no sign of Todd anywhere. He shivers in the sudden cold.

"Todd?" he yells, trying to stay calm. "Are you out here?"

He barely registers someone behind him saying "Sorry, Dirk," before he feels a blinding pain in the back of his head, and then, for a while, nothing at all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk is fine, he tells himself. He's always fine. Actually, he's probably annoying someone right now, babbling about diamonds and trying to give the bad guys his business card. He is _fine_ , so Todd can just calm the fuck down and figure out how to get to him. 
> 
> *
> 
> In which Todd doesn't like enclosed spaces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Welcome to Angstapalooza 2017, featuring Todd Pathetic Bellhop Brontzman. 
> 
> Possible trigger warnings: The usual angsting and deep-seated self esteem issues, and also some mention of claustrophobia. There is also a bit here where Todd briefly describes one of his past pararibulitis attacks, so heads up for that.
> 
> Also I'd like to dedicate this chapter to suzako bc I killed them on their birthday. Sorry, chum! <3

Todd wakes up in a dark room, with a thumping pain in his head. Fantastic. He mentally shakes his fist at Dirk for tempting fate, but even that somehow hurts. He closes his eyes again and just lies on the floor for a while, musing over his recent life decisions and trying to figure out if he can trace this clusterfuck of an evening back to one of them in particular.

The last thing he remembers is coming out of the bathroom in the Ritz, so he has a pretty good idea what happened. Either Steve or Phantom clocked him, and brought him here. Wherever here is. He can't see much, but as soon as the question occurs to him, he somehow knows that Dirk isn't there with him. He opens his eyes and struggles up onto his elbows. There's a bed on one side of him and a leather couch on the other, but the bastards still left him on the floor. He blinks, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark, and tries to take in the details of the room around him. It looks like he's in an attic, the ceiling sloping on one side above his head. There's a desk and a chair behind him, and bookshelves along one wall. He looks at his watch. It's only 9.15, though it feels later. They'd been at the party for about three hours when he last checked, which means he's only been out for about an hour. He pats his pockets. His phone is gone, and his wallet, his meds, and his hotel keycard.

He takes a deep breath and slowly clambers to his feet. A fresh wave of pain washes through his head and he sits heavily on the bed, gritting his teeth. He doesn't want to throw up in a small, locked room. Ideally, he doesn't want to be locked in a room nursing a possible concussion at _all_ , but the universe seems to have taken that choice out of his hands. After a moment, he gets up and tries the door, just in case Steve and Phantom are actually that stupid. It's locked. He tries the light switch by the door, but the burned out bulb doesn't flicker. He stands on the bed so he can look out of the skylight. He can see some other houses, and some lights in the distance, but it's too dark to make out anything useful, even if he knew this city. He sits back down on the bed.

Step one, he decides, trying not to freak out too dramatically, is taking off this fucking bowtie. Maybe he'll be able to think better if he's not being strangled. He takes it off, and opens the top button of his shirt. He takes several deep breaths. He tries hard to not think about what might be happening to Dirk right now, because that will lead to some very unproductive panicking. Instead he does his best focus on how much he hates Steve and Phantom, and their stupid schemes, and their stupid clothes, and their stupid shitty wedding band that plays bad Frankie Valli covers and has a ridiculous name. Dirk is fine. These guys are small time criminals. Spoiled idiots stealing family heirlooms from their rich parents. They've probably never even been in a real fight. They won't hurt Dirk. It's one thing to throw a bottle through someone's window and run, it's another to really hurt someone, with your bare hands.

Unless they have the gun, he thinks, feeling suddenly cold. If they have his and Dirk's hotel keycards, they could easily go and get it back. Dirk's reaction the last time someone pointed a gun at him was to throw some small pieces of cardboard at him and steal a dog, and Todd doesn't think his responses have improved much since.

Except that's not right either. That's not the last time someone pointed a gun at Dirk. Friedkin had had a gun when he took Dirk from outside that diner. The Blackwing guards had been locked and loaded. It's not something Todd lets himself think about much–how Dirk had been taken right from under his nose. It's probably not a good idea to let himself think about it now, when the exact same thing has just happened again. Todd never seems to be around when Dirk gets kidnapped. Maybe he should start insisting that Dirk come with him every time he goes to the bathroom.

Thinking about that day in the diner leads him right back to panic, and he closes his eyes, breathing as deeply and slowly as he can. 

No one has ever managed to establish a direct link between stress and pararibulitis attacks. A lot of the time they seem to come on randomly. He's seen Amanda erupt into screams while watching cartoons, or playing the drums, or talking about what to have for dinner. A few weeks ago, he'd been standing in his kitchen back in the Ridgley, pouring milk into a bowl of cereal and talking to Dirk through the partition about why they absolutely didn't have room for a dog, when suddenly the floor had become agonisingly hot, searing through the soles of his bare feet. When he'd tried to scramble on to the counter it had been white hot as well, every surface in his apartment burning through his skin, and his screams had brought Dirk running in, eyes wide, already popping the lid off a bottle of pills while Todd's skin had crisped and dissolved at the edges–

He presses his hands into his eyes, his heart pounding, and forces his breath to slow again. The point, he thinks, is that they can happen any time, but panicking _doesn't help_. So he's not going to panic. He's not. Great. Decision made. Done.

Having an attack alone in a locked room without his meds could very well prove fatal, and he's way too pissed off to die right now.

He gets up and walks around the room in tight laps, trying to shake off the feeling of being trapped, immobile. He wishes again that they'd brought Farah. She would know what to do right now. She wouldn't be panicking–well, actually, she probably would be panicking, but she'd still manage to do something useful. They never would have gotten Dirk back the last time without her, and Todd's not sure how he's going to manage now, even if they're not exactly facing the CIA this time.

Dirk is fine, he tells himself. He's always fine. Actually, he's probably annoying someone right now, babbling about diamonds and trying to give the bad guys his business card. He is _fine_ , so Todd can just calm the fuck down and figure out how to get to him. He shakes himself, and looks around for something to pick the lock.

The desk is mahogany, and expensive looking, and completely bare. The drawers are all empty. He sticks his hand down the back of the couch and finds a sticky coin and a lot of lint, but nothing useful. He turns to the bookcase and feels along the edge of the shelf. There's a thin, paper pamphlet between two leather bound books that looks like something made up cheaply at a print store. He takes it out and looks at the author's name. Carol Mander. Okay, so he's probably at Steve's house. These guys really are amateurs.

He sits down on the bed and starts to pry the staples out of the pamphlet, his hands not entirely steady. He knows this feeling, and hates it. It's a combination of hunger, the three glasses of champagne he'd had earlier, and barely contained panic. It reminds him of being on tour with the band a lifetime ago, living on beer and takeout, constantly on edge and getting in fights with assholes in dive bars for no good reason. It's an unstable, flickering sensation, and it feels far too much like the guy he used to be. The guy he's been keeping under lock and key for years. The guy he never wanted Dirk to meet.

He wonders if Dirk is somewhere in the house too, and then forces himself to cut that line of thought off for now. There's no use worrying until he gets out of here. He kneels gingerly in front of the door. His hand shakes as he tries to stick the straightened out staple in the lock, and he stops, letting his head thump against the door.

Todd wouldn't call himself claustrophobic, exactly. He's been in rooms much smaller than this one and been fine. Hell, he's had apartments smaller than this room. But he always knew he could get out before. He could get out and no one else could get in. He only likes locked doors when he's the one with the key.

This is, though he would never have admitted it to Dirk, his main issue with planes. It's not that he's scared of flying, exactly. He's heard all the statistics about how the average person is more likely to die in a car than on a plane, and for someone who has more than once been in a car with Dirk Gently behind the wheel, this is doubly true. What he doesn't like is the feeling of being in an enclosed space for a prolonged period without the option to leave, and without any distractions to speak of. Even trapped in a death maze, he'd had Patrick Spring's puzzles to concentrate on. It probably says bad things about his mental state in general that he'd found a series of sadistic, life-threatening riddles _calming_ , but he never said he was a normal guy. Except when being questioned by the authorities, and they didn't seem to buy it either.

He raises his makeshift lockpick again, and stops when he hears footsteps approaching the other side of the door. Heart thumping, he scrambles backwards and stands up, looking around the tiny room for a weapon. Before he can find anything deadlier than a staple, the door opens and Dirk is shoved through, landing in a sprawl at Todd's feet.

"Ow," Dirk says, not making any move to get up, and Todd drops to his knees beside him, dizzy with relief.

"Dirk!" he says, grabbing his shoulders and trying to lift him off the floor. Dirk slumps against him, his eyes shut and jaw clenched, and Todd realises he's been knocked on the head too, for the second time this week. He puts an arm around Dirk's shoulders, trying to keep him upright.

"Dirk," he says again, "are you okay?"

"He's fine," a voice says from the doorway, and Todd starts, looking up. He'd been so busy checking Dirk was alright he hadn't even looked to see who had brought him here. Idiot.

Steve is standing in the doorway, casually pointing a gun at them, and looking far more confident and much more intimidating than Phantom had while holding it.

"I got this from your hotel room," Steve says, indicating the gun. "I thought it might motivate Dirk to talk, but he's still kind of out of it. Guess Nick hit him a little too hard."

Todd grits his teeth. He's going to kill these guys.

"We don't know where your stupid diamond is," he says, still propping up a woozy and surprisingly heavy Dirk. "If we had it, don't you think we would have just claimed the reward by now?"

"I know you don't have it," Steve says dismissively. "If you had it, I would have just taken it back when I had a poke around his disgusting hovel of a flat. But you know something. He always knows something, however innocent he acts."

"I never know _anything_ ," Dirk objects, sounding drunk. His eyes are still half-closed.

"Shut up," Todd tells him. He looks back at Steve. "Look, we don't know where it is. We didn't even know it existed until yesterday."

"Nick told Dirk about it at uni," Steve says, the gun still trained on Dirk. "He told me."

"I wasn't listening," Dirk says, trying and failing to sit up straighter. "I don't care about your stupid Yellow Orifice."

"Yellow _Orionis_ ," Steve says, sounding pained.

"Whatever!" Dirk says, waving his hand in Steve's direction. "I'm going to tell the police about this, and they're going to hate you even more than they hate me. And your _suit_ doesn't fit right."

"Dirk," Todd says desperately, "shut up! We're not going to the police," he assures Steve. "Just let us out of here, and we'll help you find the diamond, and no one has to know about this."

"You're an even worse liar than he is," Steve says, and even through his incipient panic Todd can't help but be slightly insulted. He's an _excellent_ liar.

Not that that's his priority right now.

"I'll be back in a few hours," Steve says, backing out the door. "And you'd better be feeling more talkative."

Todd rolls his eyes as Steve closes the door. Gordon Rimmer had been an asshole, but at least he hadn't lifted his dialogue straight from bad gangster movies.

"Dirk," he says, looking down to where Dirk's head is lolling back on his shoulder. He gives him a little shake, and Dirk groans.

"Sorry," Todd says, "but try to stay awake, okay? Can you get onto the bed if I help you?"

"Bed," Dirk says gratefully, raising his hand and hitting Todd on the chin.

"Yeah," Todd says, "Bed. Come on."

He experiences an unwelcome sense of déjà vu as he hauls Dirk onto the bed and rolls him onto his stomach with his head turned to the side. He kneels behind him and cautiously parts his hair, trying to see how hard that bastard Phantom had hit him.

"I just want you to know," he mutters, squinting at Dirk's head in the dark, "that your friends are, without exception, total assholes."

Dirk makes an incoherent noise. Todd sighs and runs a hand through his own hair. He checks his watch. 9:46. He can let Dirk rest for a few minutes. He clambers over him and goes back to kneel in front of the door, groping around on the floor for his staple.

"What are you doing?" Dirk asks after a minute, and Todd turns back to look at him. Dirk is staring at him, looking slightly more awake, though still kind of green around the gills. He lurches slowly into a sitting position, and Todd climbs back onto the bed, kneeling behind him. Dirk tries to turn to face him, and Todd grabs his shoulders to keep him still.

"I was trying to pick the lock," he says, probing the back of Dirk's head.

"Don't bother," Dirk says, leaning into his hands. "It's bolted on the outside. If you had a hatchet, it might be useful."

"Right," Todd says, knowing that it's not really Dirk he's annoyed with, but somehow unable to stop himself, "Dirk Gently's detective assistant training: blend in by concealing a hatchet in your _tuxedo_."

"I merely _observed_ that a hatchet would be useful right now. I didn't imply that you should somehow have known that ahead of time."

"I don't think talking about unattainable things that would be hypothetically useful is going to help us right now, Dirk."

"Well then, I don't suppose it would be any use to ask if you could hypothetically stop yelling?"

"I'm not yelling!" Todd yells. He clamps his mouth shut, and ignores Dirk's pointed silence.

His fingers find the bump on the back of Dirk's head, and Dirk hisses in pain.

"Goddamn it," Todd says, dropping his hands. The bump is the size of a ping pong ball already, and God knows the last thing Dirk needs is another knock to the head to add to his already impressive collection.

"It's not my fault I got walloped on the head," Dirk says, sounding a little sulky.

"I know," Todd says, trying very hard to remember that arguing with Dirk isn't going to help anything, and will just be one more thing to beat himself up for later. "He took you back to the hotel?"

"Yes," Dirk says, "he insisted on rooting through all of our things. He took the gun, and any cash he could find, and he _ate_ my Jaffa Cakes."

"We'll get you some more," Todd says automatically, and then boggles a little at his own priorities.

"What about you?"

"I just woke up here," Todd says. "I guess they thought it'd be easier to separate us."

"I think he thought I'd be more cooperative without you there. Todd–"

Dirk twists around to face him, bringing his leg up so that his shin brushes Todd's knees. Todd awkwardly lets his hands drop.

"I don't think he sent me that guitar pick," Dirk says.

"What? Why?"

"He found it in the drawer and he seemed to think Phantom had sent it to me. He went off on a rant about what an idiot he was, implicating them by sending me something with their band's logo on it."

"He could have been lying," Todd says, wincing at the stiffness in his back as he moves to sit cross-legged facing Dirk.

"But why would he? Why lie about that, and to me? I already know he was the one who sent me that note, and sent Phantom after us with a gun, and tried to burn my flat down. Why lie about the least illegal thing that happened to us all week?"

"I...don't know," Todd says, pressing his hands to his eyes. He feels like shit. "I can't really think too clearly right now, but I'm pretty sure this makes zero sense."

"Are you alright?" He feels Dirk's hands touch his, moving them away from his face so he can peer into his eyes. Todd almost smiles as he recognises the mirror image of his own impulse to examine, to probe, even though it's too dark to see much and neither of them would know what to do about a head trauma anyway.

"I'm okay," he says. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'll be honest with you," Dirk says, smiling a little, "I'm not sure how to take that."

"I'm not glad about the kidnapping," Todd amends. "Obviously."

"It's alright," Dirk says, and Todd realises that Dirk is still touching his hands, that Dirk's thumbs are moving back and forth across his wrists, apparently without him realising. He feels lightheaded. "I know what you mean."

"You do?"

"Yes," Dirk says. "If you hadn't come on this trip with me you probably would have been a lot happier, and a lot less knocked unconscious, but from a purely selfish perspective, I'm glad you're here too."

Todd swallows and just about manages not to say aloud that after this trip, he's never letting Dirk go anywhere without him ever again. That's...not a great sentiment, he can see that, although it's maybe the closest thing to friendship he has to offer. Maybe friendship isn't the right word for it anymore. The last twenty four hours have been confusing even by their standards, and now really isn't the time to try and figure out his entirely baffling reaction to seeing Dirk in a tuxedo, or the fact that he's now extremely aware of how much they touch each other on a daily basis. _Or_ the fact that even when he got a little bolder and touched Dirk's hand, or his hair, Dirk didn't shy away. Or the fact that Dirk is touching his hands right now, and showing no signs of letting go in the near future.

Or the fact that Dirk's smile under the lights in the Ritz ballroom had all but knocked the breath out of him.

Maybe he's been a complete idiot for a very long time.

However, since that time he has _literally_ had the breath knocked out of him, and there is nothing romantic about possible concussions. Whatever tentative and improbable thoughts he's been harbouring since last night, being knocked out and kidnapped by a maniac in a badly fitted suit really should have killed the mood. And yet.

He's still staring at Dirk's hands.

"Todd," Dirk says, softly. His face is gray in the moonlight filtering through the skylight. He looks down to where he and Todd are basically just sort of holding hands now. "What's going on?"

"We've been knocked unconscious and kidnapped," Todd says, pulling his hands back into his lap. "Not for the first time, and probably not for the last."

"That's not what I meant," Dirk says.

"Well, maybe it should have been," Todd says, unfolding his legs and turning to sit on the edge of the bed. "I kind of think the kidnapping thing should be our top priority right now."

Dirk makes a frustrated noise. "You know," he says petulantly, "if I _were_ psychic, being friends with you would be a hell of a lot less confusing."

"Well," Todd says, "if _I_ were psychic, I wouldn't read your mind if you paid me. It's probably like a dystopian Disneyland in there."

They glare at each other for a moment, and then Dirk grins in that ridiculous ear to ear way he has, and suddenly the whole situation seems unbearably funny.

"Stop it," Todd says, his mouth twitching. "Stop smiling. Dirk, this is _not_ funny."

"Sorry, sorry," Dirk says, raising his hand to his mouth in a way that completely fails to cover his grin. "Please, continue insulting me."

"Dirk!" Todd says, feeling equal parts pissed off, helpless, and amused in a way that reminds him of being mercilessly tickled by Amanda as a kid.

"Oh," Dirk says, "is it my turn? Alright, here goes: your taste in music isn't that great."

" _What_?" Todd says.

"And you should get some new shirts. And you have too many opinions on coffee and too few on cats."

"Oh my God," Todd says, just giving in with a sort of exhausted resignation to the laughter rising in his chest. "You are the most ridiculous person–"

Dirk is laughing now too, and somewhere under the hysteria, Todd knows he is outraged about a multitude of things, but he can't seem to focus on that right now.

"Todd," Dirk says, hitting him on the shoulder, "No, Todd, listen, the most–" he runs out of breath and wheezes at Todd for a while, flapping his hands. Todd would make fun of him if he could stop laughing long enough to form words. His chest hurts.

"The most ridiculous thing," Dirk manages, propping himself up on Todd's shoulder and clutching his own ribs, "the best thing, is that _Steve_ –" he stops again, takes a deep breath, and chokes out, "Steve drove me here in that dreadful green car!"

That sets them off again, and Todd tries not to think about how he's spent half of this holiday fearing for their lives, and half of it laughing harder than he can ever remember. Maybe he and Dirk really were destined to know each other, because he's pretty sure anyone else in the universe would think they were crazy right now.

"Oh God," he says eventually, wiping his eyes as his laughter sputters out like an old car engine. This starts him thinking about Steve's shitty, acid green car again, and he has to take a deep breath and remind himself that he's currently being held hostage and might _die_ so he won't lose it all over again.

Dirk is slowly hiccoughing to a stop next to him, still grinning and leaning on Todd's shoulder. Suddenly he groans and lies back down.

"Oh dear," he says, still smiling faintly. "That hasn't helped with the head pain."

"No kidding," Todd says, lying next to him.

They lie there for a few minutes, breathing like they've run a marathon, and suddenly Todd's mind goes to a highly inappropriate place and he feels himself blush bright red in the dark.

His hand twitches on the covers beside him, and he thinks of reaching over and putting it on top of Dirk's, but instead he keeps staring at the ceiling and says,

"We're going to get out of here."

"I know," Dirk says. "I have a good feeling about–"

"Oh God," Todd says, "shut up! Do you like jinxing us?"

He looks over at Dirk and sees he's laughing again. Great, so neither of them is the sane one. Good to know.

*

Dirk gets up after a while, and goes through the same routine Todd did when he first woke up, standing on the bed to peer out of the skylight, rooting through the desk and down the back of the couch, examining the bookcase. He doesn't bother trying the door, since they now know it's bolted on the outside, but he does kneel down and try to peer through the keyhole. The entire time he's humming distractedly under his breath, and it takes Todd a minute or two to figure out that it's a Mexican Funeral song. He doesn't remember ever playing it for Dirk. He watches from the bed, experiencing one of those moments he has as Dirk's friend every now and then: a sense of pure, bemused disbelief that this guy actually exists.

"Where did you hear that song?" he asks, and Dirk stops humming, frozen comically in place crouched by the door.

"Erm," he says, and it's dark, but Todd is fairly certain he's blushing. "I found it. On the internet."

"You looked my old band up on the internet?"

"Well," Dirk says, "you're the one always complaining about people wearing t-shirts with the names of bands they don't actually listen to."

"It's okay when the shirt is a gift from one of the former band members," Todd tells him.

"Noted," Dirk says. He seems to struggle with something for a moment, opening his mouth, closing it, and then opening it again to say, "I liked it. The music. You have...you're a good singer."

"Thanks," Todd says, feeling awkward and pleased. He _knows_ he's a good singer, it's just been a long time since anyone has told him so. Dirk smiles at him, quick and small and bright.

"I used to like singing," he says, offhandedly, "when I was in school."

"Really?" Todd says. "Did you play anything?"

"Piano," Dirk says. "It's been years, I'd probably be rubbish now."

"Maybe we could play together sometime," Todd says, and the look Dirk gives him is something he was totally unprepared for–surprised and joyful and almost awed.

"That might be fun," he says, turning away and pretending to examine the keyhole and altogether completely failing to sound casual. Todd wonders if Dirk's thought about playing with him before.

"Why did you stop playing?" he asks, and feels like a complete idiot even as the words leave his mouth. "Shit, sorry. It was Blackwing, obviously."

"Yes," Dirk says, rising to his feet and going back to the bookcase. He runs his fingers along one of the spines. "It was Blackwing. They got me plenty of toys and books to keep me happy, but apparently a piano was out of their budget. I would have settled for a keyboard. Or a xylophone."

Todd smiles, imagining a tiny, skinny Dirk with a xylophone, and then feels the smile fade as he thinks about what actually happened. Dirk had been cut off from his family, his home, all of his hobbies. And somehow he had retained a sense of who he was. Somehow, even now, he's still humming, taking out random books and flipping through the pages like he's at a magazine stand waiting for a train, instead of locked in a small room by someone who's possibly going to kill him.

"Enjoying yourself?" Todd asks, when Dirk shows no sign of putting the book down.

"Not really," Dirk says. "Blah, blah, moors. Blah, blah, forbidden love. Blah, blah, betrayal. Oh, a dog!"

"You should write book reviews," Todd says. "You know, sometime when we're not being held hostage."

"It's not as though there's anything else to do," Dirk says, closing the book and sliding it back into the shelf. He shoots Todd a disgruntled look. "How are you so calm? You hate this kind of thing."

"I'm not," Todd admits. "I'm just trying to pretend I am. Good to know it's working."

Dirk sighs and comes to sit next to him.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Our second case together hasn't been a lot of fun so far."

"Did you think the first one was fun?" Todd asks, baffled.

"Well yes, in parts. The bit with all the digging was good. And the puzzles."

"The puzzles that nearly killed us?"

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy that a little," Dirk says, pointing at him accusingly. "You were really good at them."

"I guess it wasn't the worst part of that week," Todd concedes.

"No," Dirk says. "I think that would be the bit where I got shot and you got electrocuted. I never really thanked you for that. For saving me."

"You don't have to thank me," Todd says.

"Of course I do," Dirk says, looking perturbed. "You've been a better assistant than I could have hoped, and a better friend than I could have ever imagined. There must be a way to thank you, to pay you back. I'll figure out what it is. I've been working on it."

"Dirk," Todd says, staring at him, "what the hell?"

"I thought maybe coffee," Dirk says, sounding more like he's talking to himself than Todd. "Every morning, of course, not just a single coffee. That wouldn't do. And then I thought of the business cards. But that's not enough either. Maybe–"

"Stop," Todd says, sitting forward to touch Dirk's arm. Dirk looks back at him, startled, as if he'd actually forgotten he wasn't just talking to himself.

"You don't have to repay me for being your friend, Dirk. It's not like it's entirely selfless on my part. It's not like I'm not getting anything out of it."

"Well," Dirk says, "I hate to harp on my own insecurities, but from where I'm sitting–"

He cuts himself off as Todd stands up, following the movement warily with his eyes.

"Todd? Are you alright?"

Todd closes his eyes and wishes he wasn't so bad at this. He wonders what Amanda would say.

"You don't owe me anything," he says, turning to look at Dirk. "Do you understand that? I don't want you to think that."

"Okay," Dirk says, standing up, and raising his hands slowly like Todd is a spooked horse.

"Is that what was bothering you? The other night, when you couldn't sleep?"

"Maybe a little," Dirk says, avoiding his eyes.

Todd sighs and scrubs his hand over his face.

"And you couldn't have just told me that?"

"Oh, well, that's a bit rich coming from you," Dirk says, indignantly. "You've been acting really weird for the last few days, you know you have! Why don't you tell me what's bothering _you_?"

Todd stares at him.

"I..." he says, and then stalls. "That's not..."

Dirk rolls his eyes.

"See?" he says. "Not so easy, is it?"

"I was thinking about what it's going to be like," Todd hears himself say. "When we go back home."

Dirk, although he does a slightly better job hiding it this time, looks suddenly terrified.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Todd says, floundering, "it's going to be different when you have the agency up and running. The last couple of months we were taking some down time, and I think we deserved it. But this week has just made me think about some..." _God_ , what is he even saying? "... some stuff."

"Oh," Dirk says, deflating. "Yes, I see. Don't worry Todd, I understand completely."

Todd blinks. "You do?"

"Yes," Dirk says, "of course. When we get back, I'll move my things back downstairs. You don't have to worry. I knew this was coming."

Todd stares at him, feeling the conversation slipping out of his control.

"I don't..."

"It's fine," Dirk says, giving him a horrible, false smile. "I'm sleeping much better now. The nightmares are nearly gone. It was nice of you to let me stay for as long as you did, but it's not as though I expected you to let me live in your flat forever. I mean, it's not something friends do, is it?"

"Is that what we are?" Todd says. "Friends?"

Dirk's eyes widen. He looks like Todd has punched him. "I thought... I mean, you just _said_ –"

"No," Todd says, hastily, "I didn't mean that. Of course we're friends. Of course we are. I just meant, we do a lot of things friends don't usually do."

"Like what?"

"Like _what_? Like spending every waking and sleeping minute together, Dirk! Like eating all our meals together, like sharing a bed, like buying kitchen appliances together, like falling asleep _holding hands_ –"

"But that's what I'm saying!" Dirk looks panicked. "I understand, I've gotten too close. I can give you your space, Todd, I can!" His words are rushed, tripping over themselves. He actually takes a physical step backwards, away from Todd. "I'll go back to sleeping in my own bed. I'll have dinner in my own apartment. I won't text you every time you have to go out without me. I won't wake you in the middle of the night. I promise! We'll still have our cases, and... and maybe we can go for pizza sometimes. I'll back off–I'll be normal!"

"Stop," Todd says, scrunching his eyes shut. He has the weirdest urge to put his hands over his ears, so he won't have to listen to another word of what Dirk is saying. "That's not...that's not what I said. That's not what I want."

Dirk throws his hands up. "Then what _do_ you want?"

"I don't know!" Todd yells. "That's the problem, can't you see that? That's what makes me so unbelievably shitty at this."

Dirk says something that sounds like _argh_ and turns away, pacing to the other side of the room and back. He stops in front of Todd, his hands on his hips.

"If we're not friends," he says abruptly, "then what are we?"

"I don't know," Todd says, only half-lying. "But when I thought they took you...Dirk, I couldn't _think_. I was useless. I couldn't even get the door open. If he hadn't brought you back–"

"But he did!" Dirk says, looking perplexed. "And anyway, there was nothing you could have done! He had a gun, and you were locked in a room, with no way to get to me."

"That's not the point!"

"Of course it's the bloody point! You don't blame me for being kidnapped by the CIA, do you? Or Farah, for being handcuffed to a bed?"

"It wasn't just that I couldn't get out," Todd says, struggling to articulate something he's not even sure he _wants_ Dirk to understand. "It was that I could barely even think about getting out. I was so freaked out, I couldn't do anything."

"Because there was nothing you could do!" Dirk says, throwing his hands up as if Todd is being purposefully difficult. "You went to pieces because there was no action you could realistically take. You're the one who takes action, Todd, you always are. That's why you're always the one saving us! But you knew you were trapped, and, quite frankly," he tilts his head like he's trying to be tactful, "you don't react well to being...cornered."

"Stop doing that," Todd says. "Stop it. I'm not some kind of hero who goes around saving people's lives."

"Well," Dirk says, "you're the closest thing I have, so stop beating yourself up."

"Maybe you deserve better, then," Todd says. "Maybe you deserve someone who has a plan. Someone who knows what they're doing."

"Todd," Dirk says, patiently. "Do I strike you as the kind of person who concerns themselves over much with planning?"

"It's different," Todd says. "You see things other people can't see. The..." he waves his hands inarticulately, "the connection things. There's no agency without you."

"There's none without you, either!" Dirk says. "I'd be dead if it weren't for you! And so would Farah, probably, and Lydia Spring, and that nice little dog. Look, if this is about you needing me to back off, I understand. I really do. But if this is some sort of martyr thing–"

"Martyr?" Todd says. "Have you been listening to a word I've said? I'm being practical, here! I'm no use to you if I'm so worried about you I can't see straight."

Dirk stares at him, his mouth hanging open.

"You..." he says, slowly. "You were freaking out because of _me_. Because you were worried about me."

Todd seriously contemplates ripping his own hair out.

"Yes," he grinds out, clenching his hands. He can hear his voice getting louder, but he can't seem to stop it. "That is the entire freaking problem, Dirk. I don't know what to do without you anymore. I've barely let you out of my sight for an hour in the last two months. I can't _sleep_ without you. Can't you see that that's bad?"

"No," Dirk says.

Todd looks back up at him.

" _No_?" he repeats incredulously.

"No," Dirk says, apparently gaining conviction by the second. "That's not the problem here. I see that now. The problem–the real problem–is that you don't like being cornered."

He moves closer to Todd, right in his face, and Todd fights the urge to back down, to back away. Dirk is standing between him and the door. Dirk looks determined, and scared. Todd wants to touch him so badly, he can't actually move at all.

"I think it's obvious," Dirk says, "that out of the two of us, you're the brave one. We've been in some pretty tight corners since we met, and every time I need you, you rise to the challenge. I'm very grateful for that, Todd. But quite frankly, when it's not life or death, you're a bit rubbish."

Todd opens his mouth to protest, not entirely sure what he's planning on saying.

"No, stop it." Dirk says. He still looks terrified, but he's not backing down. "We are _talking_ about this, Todd. You think you're what–pushing me away for my own good? It's not happening."

He pauses. Todd's heart is beating like crazy. Dirk's hair is messy and his eyes are bright, and he's still wearing his bowtie, in a crisp, perfect knot.

"I don't know what you want from me, exactly." Dirk says, his voice low. "And believe me, I've been trying to figure it out. But I know you're holding something back. Well, if you want a challenge, here it is. I need you. And I'm starting to think maybe you need me too. So what are you going to do about it?"

Dirk is staring at him in determination, his jaw set, breathing slightly too fast, everything laid out between them, finally, and Todd has to do _something_ , so he puts his hand on Dirk's face and kisses him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Come on," Todd says, nudging Dirk towards the stairs. "Let's go find out what we're walking blindly into this time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to princessparadoxical on tumblr, as her birthday is coming up. Thank you for all your wonderful posts, insights, headcanons, and the general loveliness you bring to the fandom.
> 
> I'd also like to thank everyone who's been leaving comments so far. Your feedback gives me life, waters my crops, and...whatever else people say on the internet about things they like. Floats my boat? Blows my hair back? Anyway, thanks. You're all amazing.
> 
> Notes for this chapter:  
> \- Some kissing, and vague allusions to sex. If you hc Dirk as ace and don't want to so much as read him talking about thinking about hypothetically having sex, no worries. Give this one a miss.  
> \- Some mild violence, no worse than previous chapters.  
> \- Steve Mander is a dick.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Dirk only realises he has leaned down to meet Todd halfway after he realises that they are _kissing_ , which he only realises after he realises that he can't see Todd's face any longer, because it's much too close up. Then, suddenly, his brain trips over itself and everything falls into place and he grabs Todd's shoulders clumsily and kisses him back.

He has never felt anything like this, not in his entire life, and suddenly whole heaps of things make sense to him that never did before, like looking at squiggles and symbols and having them resolve themselves into letters, like seeing everything line up and knowing that he's solved the case, like having friends finally, but even better, because this is something he didn't even know he could ever have.

Something is building inside of him, something hot and dizzying is sweeping his body from head to toe, but it's not bad. The top of his head and his fingertips are tingling. Todd's mouth is so warm. Todd is so close.

Todd pulls away slightly, but kisses him again, quickly, once, twice, on the mouth and then on the cheek, and Dirk can't breathe very well, but that's _fine_. Everything is good. Everything is fantastic.

Todd's eyes are wide as he says breathlessly, "Is this–Dirk, is this okay?"

"Yes, yes," Dirk says, grabbing blindly at Todd's lapels, "God, come back here–"

Todd makes a noise Dirk has no idea how to interpret and then they're kissing again, and that's much better. He puts his hand on the back of Dirk's head and strokes his hair. Dirk shudders and grabs Todd's shoulders again. He can't _think_.

"Is this...is this step five?" Todd says, when they break apart. He's still standing dizzyingly close, with a tiny, secret smile on his face, and Dirk's heart is beating so madly it takes him a second to process the question.

"No," he says. "Step five is persuading you to do the accounts. I hate maths."

Todd laughs, his forehead resting against Dirk's cheek.

"That's smart," he says, kissing Dirk's jaw. Dirk clutches him for dear life, feeling unbalanced and inexperienced, and also rather wonderful.

" _Todd_ ," he says, the word coming out slightly more vowel than normal. Todd pauses the kisses he's dropping along Dirk's jaw, breathing warmly onto his neck.

"Dirk," he says, and Dirk sighs, loosening his grip on Todd's shoulders. He lets one hand drift to the back of Todd's neck, and one down to loosely hold his left wrist. Todd raises his head and kisses him again, so deeply and so thoroughly that Dirk barely notices when he bumps into the door at his back, or when Todd links their fingers at Dirk's side. He wonders distantly which of them is shaking. Todd breaks away, gasping.

"Oh my God," Todd says, sounding almost shocked. He buries his face in Dirk's neck and squeezes his hand, breathing heavily. Dirk's brain is whirring frantically, his entire body is running at twice its usual speed, and it feels brilliantly, terrifyingly right, even if he has no idea what he's doing. On a hunch, he turns his head slightly and kisses Todd's earlobe. Todd's entire body shudders, and Todd leans his weight against Dirk, who leans against the door, feeling stupidly, melodramatically weak. He slides his hand from Todd's neck to the small of his back and presses him closer. They stand there for a moment, breathing together, and Dirk thinks that he had no idea he could feel this many things all at once.

This is where they've been heading, he thinks, for a very long time. He just couldn't read the signs properly until tonight. For the first time, possibly in his life, he feels wonderfully, solidly sure of himself. Not of the will of the universe, or a lead in a case, or a missing bloody _cat_ , but of himself. This, he thinks, is what being in love is like. What a useful thing to know.

*

After far too short a period, Todd raises his head from where it's nestled very comfortably in the crook of Dirk's neck and says,

"We probably shouldn't be doing this right now."

"Hmm?" Dirk says, stroking Todd's hair.

"Dirk," Todd says, doing his serious face, and Dirk makes an effort to pay attention. "It's nearly midnight. Steve could be back any minute. This isn't the best timing."

"Right, yes," Dirk agrees. When a moment passes without either of them making any effort whatsoever to increase the distance between them, he adds, "Just to be clear though–timing aside, you do _want_ to be doing this."

Todd swallows. "Yeah," he says, looking at Dirk's mouth again. "Yeah, I want to do this."

He darts forward and kisses Dirk again, and Dirk responds enthusiastically, much preferring this to talking about Steve, or really thinking about Steve's existence at all. He pulls Todd flush against him, and Todd groans into his mouth.

"Jesus, Dirk," he says, and Dirk kisses him again just in case he was about to say something else boring and practical and not kissing related. Now that he's had approximately four minutes to adjust to the idea of being in love with Todd, he's feeling pretty good about it. It seems to mean that he can touch Todd as much as he likes, and also that some truly excellent kissing is on the table. It occurs to him to wonder what _else_ is on the table.

"Do you want to have sex with me?" he asks, breaking away from Todd and waiting for him to open his eyes and close his mouth. Todd comes back online and blinks at him, and then seems to register the question and looks scandalised. Dirk puts his hand against Todd's face to see if he can feel him blushing. It turns out he can, which is both interesting and strangely heart-rending in a way he can't explain. He waits for Todd's response.

"What," Todd says, eyes darting towards the bed, "Like...now?"

Dirk raises his eyebrows.

"Well," he says, "I meant it as more of a general query, but far be it from me to quash your enthusiasm."

Todd gives a strangled laugh, closing his eyes and turning his face into Dirk's hand.

"There's no pressure," Dirk says. "I just wanted to check if it was on the table. That's a figure of speech," he adds, "in case you think I'm inviting you to have sex with me on an actual table. There aren't even any tables in here, but I just want to be clear. There is a pretty sturdy looking desk, if that's what you're into–"

"Okay, shut up now," Todd says, still grinning a little. Dirk draws in a breath as Todd's lips move against the palm of his hand. Todd opens his eyes and looks at him, and then very carefully holds Dirk's hand in place and kisses the centre of his palm. Dirk exhales.

"Todd..." he says, just to say it. Todd looks at him, his pupils blown, eyes dark in the dim light, and then suddenly, with the worst possible timing, something in the back of Dirk's mind clicks into place.

"Oh!" he says, eyes wide. "Oh, shit."

Todd backs off a little, looking alarmed.

"What?" he says. "Dirk, what is it?"

Dirk groans and lets his head thump back against the door. "Solved it," he says.

"The...case?" Todd sounds bemused.

"No, not the case. The _horoscope_ , Todd. A swift exit!"

"I thought that was about us being kidnapped?"

"No," Dirk says, "the wording was too specific, it's been bothering me since I woke up. I get it now. I know how to get us out of here."

"Then why do you sound so pissed off?"

"Well," Dirk says, awkwardly, "it's just...the timing. Everything was just getting extremely nice, and I had to drag us back to the unpleasant, kidnappy reality of the evening. I mean, you should probably know at the outset of whatever this is that I'm fairly certain I'm going to be the kind of person who consistently ruins the mood of any given romantic situation, but I didn't mean to start the trend quite this early."

Todd rolls his eyes.

"I'm flattered," he says dryly, "but I think our top priority should be getting out of here before the guy with the gun comes back." He hesitates. "We can pick this up later. If you want."

"I do!" Dirk says, grabbing Todd's shoulders again in a way that's probably not sexy so much as desperate and difficult to ignore. "Definitely."

"Okay," Todd says. He clears his throat and takes a step back, and then reaches out and straightens Dirk's vest. "Good. That's. Very good. So, tell me about our exit."

Dirk reluctantly disentangles himself and moves to the bookcase.

"This house isn't that old," he says, crouching to scan the titles near the bottom. "But it's meant to look old. I noticed it on the way in. Lots of old-fashioned panelling, and big swoopy staircases, that kind of thing."

"So?" Todd says.

"Take a look at that pamphlet," Dirk says. "The one written by Steve's mum."

He hears Todd cross to the desk and pick up the mangled pamphlet that's had its staples ripped out, presumably in Todd's quest for a lockpick.

" _The Hidden Secrets of London Suburbia_ ," Todd reads. "I don't get it."

"I wonder if Steve even knows about this," Dirk says, finding the book he's looking for and pulling it out to feel around behind it. "He's not the most observant–Ah!"

He finds the knob and turns it, pulling as hard as he can. The bookcase creaks in protest, and then creaks open an inch or two, revealing a dark space beyond it.

"Oh, come _on_ ," Todd says, dropping the pamphlet.

"I knew it!" Dirk says, gleefully. "It's a weird trend, rich people having secret passages built into their posh houses, and Steve's family are exactly the kind of weird rich people to do it. I have to say, it's not as clever as Patrick Spring's lab. That one had a lock that was actually a clock!" He tips his head, considering. "Or maybe a clock that was actually a lock. Either way, much more stylish, I thought. The bookcase thing is bordering on cliché."

"How the hell did you know to do that?"

"I didn't know, exactly," Dirk says. "It was a hunch." He shows Todd the book that had been concealing the doorknob.

"Jonathan Swift," Todd says, staring at it in dawning comprehension. He looks back at Dirk. "A Swift exit. Is there something you're not telling me here?"

"What do you mean?" Dirk says, blankly.

"Well, all of a sudden you're an expert on architecture and secret passages?"

"I read about it in a book!" Dirk says. "Your book, the one in your apartment. It had a building in Chicago that had a secret passage behind a bookcase. It was built in the 70s, but it was meant to look older."

"Book?" Todd says. "The book that had both of our buildings in it?"

"No," Dirk says, "one of your _other_ modern architecture books."

Todd scowls and kicks half-heartedly at Dirk's feet. Dirk, crouched precariously on the ground, immediately overbalances. Todd sighs and helps him up.

"What are the odds of that?" he mutters, hauling Dirk to his feet. Dirk clings to his arm as he rights himself, beaming. Todd looks tired, and grumpy, and is still holding tight onto Dirk's arm even though he's upright and mostly steady now.

"Well," Dirk says fondly, "It has been a very improbable evening."

 

*

 

The corridor leads them down several cramped, damp-smelling flights of stairs, which lead them to a small, windowless room. Dirk gropes around in the dark until he finds another doorknob, and then pauses, turning back to Todd. Or, where he thinks Todd is standing, at least.

"Ready?" he whispers. He feels Todd's hand brush against his in the dark.

"Ready," Todd says, and Dirk turns around and twists the doorknob.

The door is stiff, and he needs to give it a couple of good shoves to get it open. He hopes there's no one on the other side, but it seems to be mostly dark and quiet.

"I think we're in the kitchen," he whispers back to Todd, creeping out. He can see copper pots and pans hanging over the island in the middle of the room, gleaming in the faint light from the window. Todd emerges behind him, and makes a beeline for the back door.

"Dirk," he whispers, "it's open!"

"Maybe we should look around a bit first," Dirk says, looking around for another door. He sees a flight of stairs through a rough archway on the other side of the room and takes a step towards them.

"Are you _kidding_?" Todd grabs his shoulder and pulls him towards the door. "Let's get out of here before someone pulls a gun on us and drags us into another locked room! One without a secret passage this time!"

"Todd, they have our things somewhere! If we can find our phones and our wallets, it will be a lot easier to figure out where we are and get back to the city. For all we know we're miles from anywhere, and even if we find a convenient Tube station, we have no way to pay for it!"

"So we'll walk until we find somewhere with a phone, and we'll call the police!"

"Look, I just..." Dirk pauses, taking in how tense Todd is, the grip he has on Dirk's upper arm.

"Please, Todd," he says, softer. "I have a feeling."

"You can't use that to win every argument we have."

"I don't!" Dirk holds his hands up. "I won't. I just really think we should explore a little. Can you trust me on this?"

Todd sighs a long suffering sigh, looks between Dirk and the door one more time, and lets go of his arm. "Fine," he says. "But if you get knocked out again, I'm leaving you here."

"I believe you," Dirk says seriously, putting a hand on his heart for emphasis. Todd rolls his eyes.

Suddenly Dirk feels dizzy with the realisation that he's going to get to _have_ this–Todd pulling faces and grumbling, but following Dirk into every bizarre situation the universe throws at them. Todd at his back, watching protectively for anyone who wants to hurt them. Maybe even Todd sleeping by his side every night, and waking up beside him every morning, _indefinitely_. He's won the argument, but for a moment he can't move for the sheer relief of it all.

"Thank you," he whispers, fixing his eyes on Todd's face and hoping he understands all the things Dirk is thanking him for, the things he can't say aloud right now. Something in Todd's face softens and he smiles at Dirk reluctantly, looking torn between yelling at him and kissing him. Dirk realises with a start that he's seen this expression on Todd's face before. Lots of times.

"Come on," Todd says, nudging Dirk towards the stairs. "Let's go find out what we're walking blindly into this time."

 

*

 

As they reach the top of the stairs, the house looks dark and quiet. They emerge into a hallway and then into a large foyer, and Dirk recognises the sweeping staircase Steve dragged him up a couple of hours ago. He can hear voices coming from a room to their left, muffled by a heavy wooden door.

"That's Steve," Todd whispers from behind him.

"He sounds angry," Dirk whispers back, trying to make out what Steve is saying. It mostly sounds like irritated droning from out here, but Steve talking had always sounded kind of like that to Dirk anyway.

"We should get closer," he says, and Todd wrinkles his nose but doesn't object. Dirk creeps towards the door, keeping as close to the wall as possible, feeling Todd close behind him. Closer to the door, Steve's words are a little clearer.

"It wasn't on them, it wasn't in their hotel room, so they must know where it is!"

He hears a voice murmur something in response–Phantom, he assumes–but it's too low to make out what he's saying.

"Of course he's involved, Nick! When has anything dodgy happened around him that he wasn't involved in? Just because you fancy him–"

"I don't fancy him!" Phantom says, louder. "And even if I did, you're not impartial either! You hate him because he stole your car in uni, but that doesn't mean he stole the Orionis."

"Don't get cheeky with me," Steve says. "Dirk Cjelli is a thief and a con artist, and it's no coincidence that he's shown up again now, just as everything went to shit. I'm going to go back up now, and I'll get him to talk. You stay here and write his name all over your copybooks if you want to."

"Shit," Dirk hisses, turning back to Todd and flapping his hands at him as Steve's footsteps approach the door. They scramble back to the hallway leading to the kitchen, and stand with their backs to the wall, listening as Steve tramps up the staircase.

"Dirk," Todd says, "we have to go. He's going to see we're not there, and then we're out of time."

Dirk chews his lip. Todd is perfectly right, but he'd feel a lot better going back into the world with something more than the admittedly very nice shirt on his back.

"I'm going to get our things back," he says, and dashes to the room Steve has just left, hearing Todd hissing frantically after him to stop, but completely unable to halt his forward momentum. He bursts into the room, which turns out to be an extremely plush library, and sees Phantom standing, shoulders slumped, staring into a roaring fire between two leather armchairs. He jumps and twists around as Dirk enters the room.

"Dirk!" he says, stumbling backwards and putting an armchair between them. "How did you get out?"

"Doesn't matter," Dirk says, scanning the room impatiently. "Phantom, where are our things?"

"I don't–" Phantom jumps again as Todd skids into the room behind Dirk.

"Dirk," he says, almost crashing into him, "what the hell?"

"Where are our phones?" Dirk says again, taking a step closer to Phantom. "Our wallets? Come on!"

"In the cabinet," Phantom says, pointing at an unnecessarily ornate cupboard to the left of the fireplace. Dirk dives forward and opens it. He grabs their things, and on impulse, takes Steve's car keys and puts them in his pocket. He hears a yell from upstairs, and thudding footsteps.

"Shit," he says, slamming the cabinet closed.

"Dirk," Todd says, "we have to go _now_!"

"Right yes," Dirk says, turning around with his hands full of purloined phones and wallets. "Thanks," he says to Phantom. "See you!"

"Wait!" Phantom says, desperately, moving towards them. "Take me with you! He'll be so angry when he finds out you're gone!"

Dirk pauses and looks back at him. Phantom is sweating and wringing his hands. He looks at Todd.

"What–no!" Todd says, grabbing Dirk and pulling him towards the door. "No way! We need to get out of here before–"

He's cut off as Steve charges back through the door, gun in hand, breathing like an angry hippopotamus.

Dirk's shoulders sag. "Damn."    

"Get over there," Steve says, waving the gun around in an alarming manner. He's red in the face, and a single strand of his perfect hair has fallen out of place. "Away from the door."

Dirk and Todd obligingly move across the room until their backs are against a large bookcase. Dirk wonders if this one has a secret passage too. He can hardly ask Steve to hang on while he tries each individual book.

Steve walks forward until he's standing next to Phantom by the fire, gun still trained on them.

"You told them where their stuff was?" he says, glancing at him. Phantom shrugs and looks at the ground. Steve makes a noise of disgust.

"Drop the stuff," he says to Dirk, and Dirk drops the stuff. He's going to have to pick his battles, here.

"Steve," he says, placating.

"Shut up," Steve says. Dirk shuts up.

Steve looks over his shoulder at Phantom. "Go and start the van," he says. Phantom looks at Dirk and Todd helplessly and leaves.

"I'm getting a little sick of your messing around, Cjelli," Steve says, taking a couple of steps towards them. Dirk feels Todd move a little closer at his side. "We're going to take a little trip, and you are going to bring me to wherever you have that diamond stashed."

"I don't know where it is," Dirk says, for what feels like the millionth time. "We told Phantom we'd help him find it."

"That's rubbish," Steve says, the gun shaking slightly in his hand. Dirk's never seen him this angry, even when he got back from his ill-advised road trip with Gary and parked a battered green car in Steve's parking space, or when he spilled tea all over Steve's history notes the week before exams. "You're all in on it. You, and Cathy, and her new girlfriend."

Dirk looks at him blankly. "Cathy's girlfriend? I don't even know Cathy's girlfriend."

Steve scowls at him and then makes a visible effort to master himself. His face slides back into the smooth, nasty expression Dirk knows rather better. It's not reassuring.

"What do you think would happen," he asks, casually moving forward another step, "if I shot you right now?"

"Well," Dirk says, trying fruitlessly to back up farther against the bookcase, "I imagine it would hurt quite a lot. But if I got shot in your house, I think the police would probably consider you a suspect, and you'd ruin your mum's nice carpet."

"Why would they consider me?" Steve asks, grinning. Dirk feels chilled. "Nick is the one who fancies you. He's the one who followed you around like a puppy in uni. He's the one who went to your flat, and your hotel. He's the one who put you and your friend on the guest list tonight. I had no idea, when I invited my former Cambridge roommate to my house for a few drinks, that things would turn violent."

Over Steve's shoulder Dirk sees Phantom standing in the doorway, his eyes wide. He tries very hard to keep his eyes steady on Steve's face.

"If I'm dead, and you get Phantom arrested for murder," Dirk says, trying to stay calm, "you'll never find out where it is."

"Good point," Steve says. He swings then gun around to point at Todd. "Maybe I should start with this bloke, to show you I'm serious."

"No," Dirk says, panicking and trying to move in front of Todd, "Steve, for goodness sake, will you listen to me? I don't _know_ where it is–"

"If you just tell me what you know right now," Steve says, as if he's trying extremely hard to be reasonable, "we can all walk away from here."

He raises the gun slightly so it's pointing at Todd's head. Todd draws in a breath, but keeps determinedly trying to push Dirk aside.

"Dirk," he mutters, as Dirk plants his feet and struggles to hold Todd in place behind him with one arm, "stop it."

Phantom moves quietly forward on the soft carpet.

"Otherwise," Steve continues, "you're going to have a very unpleasant evening. You, your American friend, and Nick."

Dirk blindly finds Todd's hand and grips it tightly at the exact moment Phantom picks up a very ugly vase and swings it, whistling through the air, to smash over Steve's head.

"My name is Phantom!" he yells.

 

*

 

There's silence for a moment as they all stand, staring at the unconscious Steve on the carpet, and then Phantom drops the remains of the vase and says, "Oh, shit!"

"It's alright," Dirk says, moving towards him with his hands held out. "Phantom, it's alright. You did the right thing."

"I thought he was my friend," Phantom says, staring down at Steve.

"Well, he's not," Todd says, bending to pick up their things from the carpet. He hands Dirk his phone and his wallet, and pockets his own. "He was planning on using you as a fall guy. He deserved it."

"Are you alright," Dirk says, his voice shaking a little. "Todd, are you..."

"I'm _fine_ ," Todd says, glowering at him. "What the hell were you thinking, appointing yourself my human shield?"

"I was thinking I didn't want him to shoot you!" Dirk yells. "He wasn't messing around, not this time!" His heart is still beating like a rabbit's, his hands are trembling, and his face is flushing hot and cold with residual terror. "I couldn't–Todd, I couldn't..."

"Okay," Todd says, relenting. He moves towards Dirk, his hands moving up to cup his face. "It's okay. We're both okay."

Dirk closes his eyes and breathes deeply, leaning into Todd's hands.

"Don't die," he says, his voice coming from a small, childish place inside him and tearing at his throat on the way out. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter. "Promise."

"I promise," Todd says, calmly. "You think I'm going to die before I can force you to take me on a real date? I'm talking dinner and a movie, no kidnappings or attempted murders, maybe an awkward kiss goodnight outside my building if you really impress me."

"We live in the same building," Dirk says, his eyes still closed. Todd's thumb strokes his cheek. His heart rate is starting to slow back down.

"Good point," Todd says. "I won't even have to ask you if you want to come up for coffee."

"Is that a sex thing?" Dirk asks, opening his eyes. "Like, a weird American sex thing?"

Todd grins. "I'll tell you when we get home," he promises, and Dirk's heart speeds up again, for an entirely different reason. Good God, dating Todd is going to _kill_ him.

He manages to completely forget Phantom is there until he clears his throat awkwardly, and he and Todd both jump.

Todd takes a step back, blushing a little, and glares at Phantom. Dirk puts his phone and wallet back in his pockets and smooths down his shirtfront, trying to form a single coherent thought. It takes even longer than usual.

"We should take the van," he says to Todd. "Get back into town. I think it may be time we involved the police."

"I think you're right," Todd says. He walks over to Steve and picks up the gun next to him. He looks at Phantom. "Are the keys in the van?"

"Yes," Phantom says, miserably.

"Okay," Todd says. He turns back to Dirk. "Let's go."

Dirk looks at Phantom, and then back at Todd.

"Todd..." he says, helplessly.

"No!" Todd says. "No! We are not taking him, Dirk. We wouldn't even be here in the first place if it wasn't for him!"

"But he saved us!"

"He also kidnapped us!" Todd says, with exaggerated patience. "He probably didn't even mean to help us. He probably just saw a heavy object and gave the nearest person a concussion out of habit."

"It's okay, Dirk," Phantom says, looking at the ground. "He's right. I've behaved very badly towards you. I'll just have to face the consequences."

Todd sighs and puts a hand over his eyes.

"Fine!" he says. "You can come back to London with us, just so he doesn't try to kill you when he wakes up. But you're going to come to the police station, and you're going to tell them everything you did, including holding us at gunpoint, and trying to set Dirk's apartment on fire."

"I didn't try to set his flat on fire!" Phantom protests. "I've already told you that! Dirk, I would never!"

"If it wasn't you," Todd says, "then who was it?"

"I don't know," Phantom says. "Maybe it was Steve? He just told me your address, and to go there and pretend to want French lessons, so I could figure out when you weren't home."

"Todd!" Dirk grabs Todd's arm. "Todd, _French lessons_!"

"What?" Todd says. "Wait–your neighbour? The French teacher? What does she have to do with this?"

"Cathy said Steve followed her to her new girlfriend's flat!" Dirk says, closing his eyes as everything starts to click into place. "Steve knew when I was back in the country, and he thought that Cathy's girlfriend and I knew each other. It's her, it must be!"

"Shit," Todd says, his eyes widening. "Dirk, that asshole called you Dirk Cjelli. The note that was pushed under your door said Gently." he turns back to Phantom. "Did you shove a note under Dirk's door? The day before you showed up there with a gun?"

"No," Phantom says, "why would I do that? If I was just going to show up with a gun anyway–"

"The guitar pick!" Dirk says, slapping Todd on the arm. "Sorry," he adds, when Todd winces. "But, oh! Oh, oh, oh! Todd, it makes sense now! Why send us a clue and then hold us at gunpoint? Because it wasn't them! It was someone who wanted us to _think_ it was them!"

"Dominique," Todd says, staring at him. "Why would she try to set your apartment on fire when she lives above you?"

"Maybe she was going to go down the fire escape? I don't know, the point is, she's involved."

"Wait," Todd says. "So you're saying that Steve knew to spy on us because he was already at your building, spying on somebody else?"

"We have to go and talk to her," Dirk says. "She must have found out about the diamond from Cathy somehow."

"What about going to the police?" Todd says, doubtfully.

"There's no point involving them until we've figured out what's going on," Dirk says. "They never take me seriously."

Todd chews his lip and looks between Dirk and Phantom.

"Okay," he says slowly, and Dirk relaxes a little. "No police for now."

"I'm afraid," a voice says from the doorway, "that's not an option."

They all turn towards the door to see yet another person pointing a gun at them. She looks more long-suffering than anything, and has the unmistakable, bags under the eyes and sensible shoes aesthetic of an _official_ police detective. Dirk is so focused on the gun that it takes him a second to recognise her.

"Sergeant Gilks!" he says, in his most winning tone. "What a nice surprise!"

 

*

 

Gilks checks Steve's pulse and peers into his eyes, and announces that he'll probably be fine, but Dirk had better bloody explain himself, and it had better be bloody good, Cjelli. There's a few minutes of tedious conversation after that, which mostly involves everyone tripping over themselves trying to explain the unconscious body on the carpet, until Dirk and Phantom make an unspoken but unanimous decision to shut up and let Todd handle this bit. When he says the words "stolen diamond" Gilks gives Dirk a dirty look, and when he gets to "secret passage" she snorts loudly. When Todd's finished, she just stands, staring into the middle distance for a moment, as if she's trying to gather the strength to finish this conversation without shooting anyone.

"Why is it," she says finally, pinching the bridge of her nose, "that whenever I catch a whiff of Svlad Cjelli in my immediate vicinity, I know I'm going to have a truly ludicrous evening?"

"I couldn't tell you," Dirk says sympathetically. "I've often wondered the same myself, my life being mostly made up of ludicrous evenings, and preposterous afternoons. The mornings are generally pretty quiet, and sometimes I squeeze in a spot of lunch before everything goes _completely_ bonkers–"

"Cjelli," she says. "Shut up."

"Right you are," Dirk says. Gilks is an alright sort, he's found, if you don't argue with her too much.

"So you two... know each other?" Todd is looking between them warily.

"Yes," Gilks says, looking pained to admit it. "I arrested this pain in my neck, this perpetual fly in my soup, over a decade ago when he was a university student, and since then he's popped up every couple of years or so to test my patience."

"I was cleared of all cheating charges, and that thing with the sofa wasn't my fault," Dirk says, forgetting that he's supposed to be shutting up.

Gilks sighs. "Is there anyone else in the house?"

"Not that we know of," Todd says.

"Right," she says. "We'll have to take a look around, of course." She turns back to the door and yells, "Matthews! Get in here."

A tall, friendly looking man in a police uniform walks in the door at an extremely unhurried pace, smiling at Gilks as if she were an old acquaintance he happened to run into at a garden party.

"Something I can do, sarge?" he asks, pleasantly.

"Did you take the keys out of that van?"

"Yes, sarge."

"Good." She indicates Steve on the floor. "This is a crime scene. Call an ambulance for this bloke, take Lennox and search the rest of the house. Back here in twenty."

Matthews beams as if Gilks has just told him to take the rest of the night off, and charge his drinks to the company card. When he gets no response from her other than a blank stare, he turns to beam at the rest of the room. Dirk grins back, and gives him a little wave.

"We'll just be searching the residence then, sarge."

"Yes," Gilks says, patiently. "You do that."

Matthews waves at Dirk and then turns and drifts back out the door, pausing only briefly to admire a rather nice painting on the wall that depicts a bored looking woman on a sofa.

"He was nice," Dirk says. "A vast improvement on your last band of hooligans. One of them hit me in the face."

"You asked him if he became a detective so that people would think his poor people skills were an interrogation technique and not a personality trait."

"He was very rude about my jacket," Dirk says haughtily.

"Never _mind_ that," Gilks says, finally putting her gun back in its holster. "You think this Dominique person has the diamond? The Yellow..."

"Oregano," Dirk supplies helpfully. Gilks shoots him a dark look.

"Orionis," Phantom says, from where he's standing, shoulders hunched, by the fireplace.

"Well, whatever it's called, we can't go poking around her flat without a warrant," Gilks says, "and I don't mind telling you lot, your credibility is a bit low right now, what with having been found in a house that isn't yours with the actual resident unconscious on the floor."

"Wait–how did you know we were here?" Dirk says.

"Your friend Cathy tipped us off," Gilks says. "Said that her ex-boyfriend has a history of stalking and a nasty temper, and that she saw him talking to you shortly before you disappeared from the party."

"Well, there you go!" Dirk says, gesturing at Steve. "His credibility is even lower than ours. Or at least it's a tie. I feel that you're discriminating against us for happening to be upright and conscious."

"Dirk and me could go and talk to Dominique," Todd says, stepping closer to Dirk and using his "normal guy talking to the authorities" voice. "Since he's technically a private investigator, the police wouldn't be liable, and she wouldn't have time to hide the evidence."

" _Technically a private investigator_ my dainty slippered foot," Gilks says, rather unkindly in Dirk's opinion. "Do you have a valid investigator's licence, Cjelli?"

"I actually go by Dirk Gently now," Dirk says, "and in answer to your question, I've found that licences are tricky things, and rarely have any bearing on investigative prowess or efficiency. Let's not be slaves to bureaucracy, Gilks." He reaches into his jacket pocket and adds, "I do have a business card, if that would help speed things along."

He offers her a business card. Todd puts his hand over his eyes.

Gilks looks like she's gearing up to heave another epic sigh when Phantom, who's been mostly silent for the last few minutes, says, "What's going to happen to me?"

Gilks turns to look at him impassively.

"I'm not sure. You'll need to come into the station so we can get all of this on record, but if you cooperate, you may get off pretty easy. Unless your parents, or the insurance company, or Mr Gently here decide to press charges."

"I won't," Dirk assures him. Phantom nods at him, still looking a little queasy.

"Thanks, Dirk."

Todd folds his arms and scowls at Phantom, but doesn't say anything.

"Okay!" Dirk says, brightly. "So, while you're doing that, Todd and I will go and speak to Dominique, on the down low, as it were."

"Who's Todd?" Gilks says. Dirk blinks at her.

"This is Todd," he says, pointing at Todd.

Todd nods at her awkwardly. "Hi."

"Oh, this bloke. What are you then," she says, squinting at him. "His handler?"

"Uh, not exactly," Todd says, glancing at Dirk. He unfolds his arms and starts to fidget with his shirt cuffs again. "I'm his..."

"Partner," Dirk says confidently. Gilks looks between the two of them. Todd smiles a little at the floor.

"Right," she says. "Well, officially I cannot let you go off to question a suspect by yourself. It would be unprofessional and it may very well compromise the entire investigation."

"Of course," Dirk says solemnly.

"Unofficially," she says, walking slowly over to Steve, "I'm going to check this man's pulse and call an ambulance, which will necessitate my turning my back on you for a short period of time."

She crouches down next to Steve and picks up his left wrist. Dirk grabs Todd's hand and drags him out the door, waving at Phantom on his way out.

"Dirk," Todd says, as they run out the front door into the crisp, silvery night, "I'm not sure you've thought this through."

Dirk turns back to him. It's dark, but there's enough moonlight to see Todd's face, looking wary and familiar, eyebrows pressed downwards as he scans the immediate area for threats. There's a breeze ruffling his hair, and he's shivering in his white dress shirt. He hasn't let go of Dirk's hand.

"Don't worry, Todd," Dirk says. He moves closer to Todd, the gravel of the drive crunching under his feet, and reaches up to smooth his eyebrows. Todd's face relaxes a little, and Dirk kisses him, softly, quickly. "I've got this absolutely under control," he murmurs, a couple of inches from Todd's lips. Todd moves after him and catches Dirk's bottom lip between his, sighing in the back of his throat as their mouths slide together.

"Really?" he breathes, breaking away again and looking at Dirk with a shoddy mask of scepticism over his fondness.

"Really," Dirk grins, and he fishes in his pocket for Steve's car keys, holding them up so they glint in the moonlight. "Let's go and steal Steve's car. It's been a while, but I remember it being pretty fun."

"Fine," Todd says, his lips twitching, "but I'm driving."

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk turns to grin at him. "You think I'm nice?"
> 
> "It's all relative," Todd says. "Relative to me? Yeah. You're the nice one."
> 
> "So what are you, then? The brooding action hero one?"
> 
>  
> 
> *  
>  
> 
> In which Todd is bad with words, but is maybe overthinking things anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY, I'M NOT DEAD!
> 
> Okay, so I shouldn't be posting this at 2am, but it's way overdue and it's been driving me crazy, so here it is! Let me know if you spot any mistakes.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who left comments and encouragement, and sorry for the massive delay on this one.

For a guy who apparently lives in a mansion filled with secret passages, Steve Mander has a really crappy car. Todd hasn't driven stick since high school, and the fact that this car was probably past its prime by that time isn't helping.

Dirk winces as Todd shifts into fourth gear, the car grinding and squeaking like it's about to snap.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want me to drive?"

"Positive," Todd says, through gritted teeth. "I might be used to automatics, but I'm less likely to kill both of us."

Truth is, he's finding it kind of tricky, sitting in the wrong side of the car, driving on the wrong side of the road. He's starting to gain a little insight into Dirk's driving back in Seattle. His whole body is screaming at him to veer right.

"Why does he still have this crappy car, anyway?"

"Maybe–"

"He didn't keep it because he liked the colour, Dirk."

"That's not what I was going to say!"

Todd raises his eyebrows. "What were you going to say?"

"I was going to say that perhaps he finds it handy, having a car that's not registered to his name, but was never reported stolen. He probably doesn't pay any taxes on it, and if he does something illegal and has to dump it, it can't be traced back to him."

Todd looks at him, impressed. "That's... a good point, actually."

"Well, that's what Gary said to him when he got so angry the first time. It didn't seem to cheer him up much, though."

"Oh," Todd says.

"He might also like the colour," Dirk adds, after a moment. "I think it's rather nice."

 

They arrive at Dirk's old building at 4am, and have a brief argument about whether they should go and question Dominique straight away–"She's a _criminal_ , Todd!"–or wait until it's no longer essentially the middle of the night. In the end, Dirk beats him at paper, rock, scissors, so they tramp up to the front door and ring Dominique's buzzer.

"If it turns out she's not involved," Todd says, shivering and wrapping his arms around himself, "she's not going to be happy that we got her out of bed at four in the morning."

"She's involved," Dirk says, confidently. He presses the buzzer again, for longer this time. "I'm meant to be here, I can feel it."

"Well," Todd says, "we might be in the right place, but it looks like our timing is off."

Dirk ignores him and presses the buzzer again, looking agitated.

"Dirk," Todd says, putting his hand on Dirk's arm. "I don't think she's home."

"But she _has_ to be! I'm meant to be here."

"Okay," Todd says, "well, let's go and sit in the car until we figure out why. It's freezing out here."

Dirk turns to look at him, seeming surprised to see Todd shivering.

"Sorry," he says, stepping into Todd's space and rubbing his hands up and down Todd's arms. It's nothing he wouldn't have done this time yesterday, but it feels different now. Everything feels different. Todd swallows and leans into the warmth for a second.

"It's okay," he says. "Come on. You can buy me a coffee."

 

*

 

The coffee from the machine in the tiny corner shop is surprisingly drinkable–better than the stuff in their hotel room. Todd sits in the front seat of Steve's car, breathing in the steam from his paper cup, feeling his shivering subside as his muscles relax. The coffee is still mostly too hot to drink, but even the smell is making him feel better.

He looks over at Dirk and catches him looking away, grinning surreptitiously into his tea.

"What?" he asks.

"You," Dirk says, "having your first coffee of the day. I never get tired of watching it. It's like seeing a caterpillar emerge from its cocoon, transformed into a beautiful, caffeinated butterfly."

Todd snorts with laughter.

"It might take more than one cup today," he says.

"It has been rather a hectic evening."

"That Steve guy is a real piece of work," Todd says after a minute, watching Dirk out of the corner of his eye. 

"Yes," Dirk says, staring out the window, "even before the thing with the car he never liked me. He used to say I was weird."

"Well," Todd says, feeling strangely indignant for a guy who has called Dirk weird at least six times this week, "He's kind of weird too. At least you're weird in a nice way, not in a kidnapping old college roommates way."

Dirk turns to grin at him. "You think I'm nice?"

"It's all relative," Todd says. "Relative to me? Yeah. You're the nice one."

"So what are you, then? The brooding action hero one?"

"No," Todd says, "I'm the sensible one. Obviously. I stop you getting carried away by your own excessive optimism."

"I see," Dirk says, tilting his head. "Like... a friendly anchor."

Todd scowls at him. Dirk pats his arm.

"It's alright, Todd. I'm sure your metaphors will improve once you've drunk that."

"I'm also the sane one," Todd mutters into his cup.

"Keep telling yourself that," Dirk says placidly.

 

Todd has finished his coffee and is taking a light power nap when Dirk elbows him sharply, pointing across the street.

"Todd!" he hits Todd on the arm.

"Ow," Todd says, blinking and rubbing his shoulder.

"Sorry," Dirk says, "but she's here!"

Todd squints across the street and sees Dominique passing under a streetlamp, fishing in a black handbag as she approaches the front door.

"Okay," Todd says, sitting up straighter, "so how do you want to–"

Dirk opens the door, jumps out, and runs across the street, yelling, "Dominique!"

Todd sighs. Perfect.

 

*

 

Dominique lets them upstairs with surprisingly little fuss once she gets over the shock of Dirk bounding up to her on the street at six in the morning.

"I went to a concert in Oxford," she says over her shoulder as she leads them up the stairs. "I decided to wait and get the earliest train back instead of paying for a hostel."

"That makes sense," Todd agrees, thinking she seems pretty chatty for a guilty person.

"If you wait here," she says, turning back to Dirk as they reach her door, "I can get you the details on the man Nick. Is this for your case?"

"No," Dirk says, in his most serious tone. Todd squares his shoulders beside him. "This isn't about Phantom. This is about you. I know what you did."

She straightens up slightly, her eyes widening behind her glasses.

"What are you accusing me of, Mr Gently?"

"This kind of theft is a serious matter, Dominique," Dirk says, clearly trying to sound official. Todd resists the urge to reach over and straighten his bowtie. "Your cooperation will go a long way towards squaring things with the police."

"Police?" She looks alarmed. "Surely there is no need to involve the police. Please, come in. I will give you what you want."

She turns to open the door, fumbling her key into the lock. Dirk shoots Todd a triumphant look and they follow her inside.

"There," she says, flipping on the light and pointing across the room.

"Janice!" Dirk yelps. Todd, bewildered, follows his gaze and sees a large fish tank with a small, orange fish flitting around a plastic underwater castle.

"Janice?" he says, nonplussed.

"My fish!" Dirk shouts. He points at Dominique, having apparently forgotten about the missing priceless jewel and says, "you _stole_ my fish!"

Dominique blotches an ugly shade of red and says, "You didn't appreciate her! You were always leaving her to go off on your strange cases, and asking me to feed her! She needs attention!"

"I only did that _twice_ ,"  Dirk says, looking more offended than Todd has ever seen him, including the time he threw a shoe at him or any of the times he got kidnapped.

"And anyway," Dirk says, moving towards the tank and bending to look in at his fish– _Janice_ –tenderly. "I gave her plenty of attention. I bought her crackers, and we used to watch Midsomer Murders together."

"Dirk," Todd says. "Stolen diamond."

"Right," Dirk says, straightening up and looking back at Dominique. "We have reason to believe, Dominique, that you are not only a shameless fish-napper, but also an audacious jewel thief of great cunning and skill."

"What are you talking about, you ridiculous sausage man?"

"The Yellow Orionis," Todd says, cutting the slanging match off at the pass before Dirk can start making fish puns. "It's a diamond."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," she says, folding her arms. "I liberated the fish. I did not steal any jewel. Anyway," she adds, looking at Dirk, "Janice is a stupid name for a fish."

"What do you call her?" Dirk asks, once again forgetting about the obscenely valuable stolen diamond.

"Ariel," Dominique says primly. Dirk sputters in outrage.

"That's a ridiculous name for a fish," he says. "She can't _fly_!"

Todd closes his eyes. "Guys," he says, loudly. "Missing. Diamond."

"Why do you think I would steal this diamond?" Dominique asks, throwing her hands up in needlessly dramatic frustration. "I am a French teacher who lives in Islington! What do you imagine I would do with it? Sell it on ebay?"

"Well," Dirk says, sounding uncertain. Todd's feeling a little less confident himself. He looks at Dirk surreptitiously, trying to read his expression. Dirk can be hopelessly naive and optimistic about people, but Todd has come to trust his instincts when they're in the thick of a case. Dirk always knows the next step, even if he doesn't know how he knows it.

"But you are dating Cathy?" Dirk says, looking lost. "Cathy Smith?"

"Yes," Dominique says, blushing faintly. "It's only been a few weeks... how do you know Cathy?"

"This doesn't make sense!" Dirk looks at him, bewildered. "She didn't try to kill us at all!"

" _What_?" Dominique says.

"Okay," Todd says, trying to sound authoritative. "We'll leave, for now. But if you try to sell any priceless diamonds, or go on any sudden vacations, we're giving all of your information to the police."

"And," Dirk announces, picking up a glass bowl of ornamental pebbles and upending it all over the ground, "we're taking Janice!" He scoops up the fish and some water and marches towards the door. Dominique stares after him, open-mouthed. Todd follows him.

"Don't leave town," he says to Dominique, and closes the door behind him.

 

*

 

"I can't believe Janice has been alive this whole time," Dirk marvels, as he carries the makeshift fishbowl carefully down the stairs. "It's like Puffles all over again."

"I don't know if they're going to let you take her on a plane," Todd says, looking back over his shoulder. Dirk is trying to watch the fish and his feet at the same time, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration. The tuxedo he's been wearing since the previous evening looks grubby and rumpled. He has dirt on his nose. Todd's chest aches just looking at him.

Something has shifted between them since last night, and something that has been clamoring at the edges of Todd's awareness for a while is now front and center in a very inconvenient way. Every time he looks at Dirk he remembers that he has now kissed him, that Dirk kissed him back, and that they will probably kiss again in the not too distant future. It's making it hard to focus. He wonders if Dirk will be the kind of person who wants to kiss a lot, as a casual sign of affection, or if his usual manic energy when on a case will kick in, and he'll forget that kissing is an option for days on end. He wonders if Dirk will want to hold his hand, or introduce him to people as his boyfriend, or hug him from behind when he's cooking. He wonders if _he_ wants that, and is unsure of the answer. He wonders if he could kiss Dirk right now, just once, just quickly, before they step out into the street. Maybe he should wait until Dirk isn't carrying a fish.

He wonders if he has, in fact, gone completely fucking insane at some point in the last twelve hours.

"I'm sure there's some kind of loophole," Dirk is saying, wobbling onto the last step and grinning triumphantly. "I can't be the first person to move country with a pet fish. Even airlines have to have some human compassion."

"I don't think any of the things you just said are true," Todd says, opening the front door, and then jumping as he comes face to face with an extremely bored looking delivery man.

"Delivery for Dirk Gently," the guy says, with the exact same flat inflection as the last time.

"That's me!" Dirk says, brightly. "Hi!"

"Sign here, please," the guy says, taking in their wrecked tuxedos and Dirk's ornamental fishbowl without an indication of even passing interest.

"Oh," Dirk says, looking down at the fish, "Erm. Unfortunately my hands are rather full right now–"

"I'll sign," Todd says, taking the clipboard from the guy and signing his name for the second time that week. He hopes whatever is in this envelope is no deadlier than a guitar pick.

The guy hands him the envelope and plods away.

"What is it?" Dirk asks, bouncing a little and then stopping when he slops water all over his already ruined sleeves.

Todd rips the envelope open. Inside there's a small, brass key. The keyring has a cheap yellow plastic fob, with a white sticker that says _68b_.

"Huh," Dirk says, twisting to get a better look. Todd grabs his arms and straightens him up before he can tip Janice onto the floor.

"Oh," Dirk says, readjusting his grip on the bowl. "Thank you, Todd."

He smiles at Todd, looking bashful. Todd stares at him for a few seconds too long as his brain helpfully reminds him that a few hours ago he was kissing Dirk's jaw while Dirk sighed into his hair.

"Um," he says.

Dirk's expression morphs into one of concern.

"Are you alright?" he asks, hesitantly.

"Yeah," Todd says, "fine."

"No," Dirk says, "something's weird. You're being weird. Is it because of...what happened last night?"

"No," Todd says. "Well, yes."

Dirk's expression of concern blossoms into full-on anxiety.

"No," Todd says, waving his hands like he can erase the words and start again, "not like that. I just–hey, could you put the fish down? For a second?"

Dirk turns and puts the fishbowl on the hall table, and then turns to look at Todd cautiously.

"It is a little weird," Todd says, and then curses himself as Dirk does a terrible job of hiding his dismay. "But not bad weird!"

"What kind of weird is it then?" Dirk asks. His shoulders are hunched and he's avoiding Todd's eyes. He looks like he's braced for bad news. Todd sighs and resigns himself to the fact that he'll never be able to play it cool again in his life.

"The kind of weird where I can't stop thinking about kissing my best friend while he's carrying a fishbowl," he admits. "That kind of weird."

Dirk looks at him, startled.

"Oh," he says, eyes wide. "That's... a good weird."

Todd shrugs one shoulder and tries to think of something a normal human might say in this scenario.

"So..." Dirk says, after a brief but intensely awkward silence, "can I...?"

"Yeah," Todd says, immediately.

Dirk moves towards him a little awkwardly, but then kisses him firmly, joyfully, his hands on either side of Todd's face. He smiles at him, breathless and beautiful, and just as Todd is starting to get a little breathless himself Dirk drops his hands and says,

"Can we have pizza for breakfast?"

 

*

 

Todd suggests they go back to the hotel pre-pizza, to drop off the fish and maybe shower and change into some less conspicuous outfits, but Dirk pouts so dramatically that he relents. It's not like he lives in this city anyway. What does he care if he looks insane?

This admittedly suspect logic is how he ends up sitting opposite Dirk in a small, dingy restaurant at eight in the morning, still wearing tuxedos, with Janice the fish in her bowl between them as they eat a Veggie Supreme.

It took them three attempts to find them a place that would serve them pizza this early, but Dirk insisted that they keep looking.

"This is London, Todd," he said, hefting the fishbowl in his arms–he refused to let Todd take a turn at carrying it. "It's the greatest city in the world. _Someone_ will serve us pizza for breakfast."

Todd mulls this over now, as he watches Dirk happily munching on his pizza across the Formica table. This city suits Dirk, he thinks, in lots of ways. It's bright, and odd, and beautiful, and it never really stops.

The restaurant smells of grease and has a surreal blue light that makes everything look kind of unhealthy, but Dirk seems totally content. Todd pushes his pizza away. He feels a little sick.

"What is your stomach _made_ of?" he asks, watching in unwilling fascination as Dirk inhales his pizza. Dirk grins at him.

"I have to keep my energy up," he says, around his fourth slice.

"So, it wasn't Dominique," Todd says, and it's only half a question.

"I don't know," Dirk says. "She could have been lying."

"But you don't think she was."

"No. I think there's something else at play here."

Todd raises his eyebrows. "A hunch?"

"Yes," Dirk says, sheepishly, "sort of. Although I think my hunches have been even less useful than usual on this case."

"Well," Todd says, "we're still alive, and we now have a mysterious key and apparently a pet fish, so I guess things could be worse."

Dirk smiles at him, and the strength of the affection there nearly bowls Todd over.

"Do you miss it?" he asks, surprising himself. Dirk looks surprised too, blinking at him in incomprehension.

"Miss what?"

"London," Todd says. "The _greatest city in the world_."

"Yes, of course I do." He pauses, eyes searching Todd's face. "Sorry, what exactly are you asking me?"

"Well, I guess I'm just wondering if you think you'll want to move back here. I mean, can you be happy in Seattle if this is your home?"

"Todd," Dirk says, softly. "It's only a city. I'd rather miss London than miss you."

Todd scrambles for something to say. He's always been bad at this kind of thing.

"Maybe we could come back here sometimes," he offers. "For vacations."

"Really?" Dirk perks up. "Even after all the... kidnappings?"

"Well," Todd says, "it's like you said before. I don't think that's a geography thing so much as a _you_ thing."

"I would take grave offense to that if only I were not the idiot who said it," Dirk says, turning his attention back to his rapidly cooling breakfast pizza.

Todd rolls his eyes as the intensity seems to bleed out of the air around them, leaving him only with a familiar, low buzz of affection that he's a little better equipped to deal with. The comfortable silence lasts for almost a whole slice of Dirk's pizza.

"Do you think–" Dirk starts.

"No."

He pouts. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Yes I do, and _no_ you can't feed pizza to the fish."

"Why not?" he says, gesturing at Todd's unfinished pizza. "You're not eating it anyway!"

"That's not the point," Todd says. "Fish don't eat pizza. We'll stop and get some fish food on the way back to the hotel."

Dirk brightens. "Thank you, Todd. You're already an excellent boyfriend."

Todd freezes halfway through wiping his hands with a napkin, his mind going completely blank for a couple of seconds.

"Sorry," Dirk says, after a moment. "Should I not have–"

"No," Todd says, hastily. "It's... fine. I wasn't expecting–it's good."

"Really?" Dirk sounds hopeful, and Todd forces himself to make eye contact. He is a grown man, and even if he's completely unable to talk about his feelings, he should at the very least be able to verbally confirm that he's someone's boyfriend.

"Yeah," he says. "Really."

It's totally inadequate, but Dirk smiles at him anyway.

 

*

 

They stop on the way back to the hotel to get fish food and a new home for Janice, and then Todd tries not to die of laughter as he watches Dirk trying to sneak a fishbowl through the hotel lobby under his decimated tux jacket.

"I think we got away with it," Dirk says, in the elevator, and Todd doesn't have the heart to tell him that at least three staff members had been very obviously pretending not to see him the whole time.

They've just showered and changed into fresh outfits when there's a knock at the hotel room door. Dirk freezes where he's cooing over Janice and turns to look at the door apprehensively.

"What?" Todd says, warily.

"It's Gilks," Dirk whispers.

"How do you know?" Todd whispers back.

"She has a police knock," Dirk says, wrinkling his nose. "Like she's interrogating the door with her knuckles."

"That makes no sense," Todd whispers. Dirk opens his mouth to answer and then they both jump as Sergeant Gilks' voice floats through the door.

"I know you're in there, Dirk Gently. You'd better open up or I'll be inclined to look a little more vigorously into the ownership of that dreadful green car downstairs."

Dirk sighs and moves to open the door.

"Good morning, Sergeant," Todd hears him say.

Gilks strides past him purposefully, nodding briefly at Todd and standing in the middle of the room, arms folded. Dirk closes the door and follows her reluctantly, avoiding her eyes.

"So," she says, "you'll be pleased to know we've arrested your friend Mr Mander for kidnapping. That Nick chap has agreed to testify against him in exchange for a reduced sentence. Can't say I blame him. In fact, looks like a few of Steve's old friends are coming out of the woodwork with some interesting stories about him."

"Good," Todd says. "That guy's a creep."

"As an officer of the law, I would have to agree with you." She turns to Dirk. "How did it go with the French teacher?"

"Ah," Dirk says, pressing his hands together. "Well, the thing is–"

Gilks sighs.

"–we're revising our initial theory–"

"Revising it to what?"

"That... has yet to be seen," Dirk says, "but I'm sure you'll agree that we've made tremendous progress in eliminating people who _didn't_ steal the diamond–"

"So the French teacher didn't take it?"

"We don't think so."

Gilks scrunches her eyes shut like it pains her to look at them.

"Gently," she says, "when working with you in the past, I have noticed that nice, simple concepts like theft and murder tend to go a bit wonky when in proximity to you. Things get complicated. Things happen that are difficult to explain in my paperwork. Because I don't fully understand the nature of these things, I'm giving you quite a long leash, here."

Dirk opens his mouth, holding up a finger. Gilks glares at him. He closes his mouth.

"That being said," she continues, "I've had enough of your faffing about. I need to see that you're taking this case seriously, and not simply popping round for tea with your neighbours, and buying pet fish."

Dirk opens his mouth again, looking a little insulted. Before he can say anything, Todd steps forward.

"Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency provides a unique service," he says, putting on his Perriman Grand voice–the one that makes him sound like he has a jewel encrusted pole shoved up his ass. Gilks raises her eyebrows at him. He keeps going. "You say that things go weird when Dirk is around, but you know as well as I do that's not how it works. Dirk shows up _when_ things go weird. And if he didn't, no one else would have a chance in hell of figuring out what was going on. So if you want this case solved, you'll stand back and let him work, however strange it looks to you. It'll come together in the end." He remembers something Dirk had suggested for the agency plaque and adds, "With arguable efficiency."

He can _feel_ Dirk's stare boring a hole in the side of his head, but he doesn't look around. Gilks is looking between the two of them, her expression somewhere between sceptical and grudgingly impressed.

"Fine," she says, abruptly. "I'll give you another day. Keep me posted."

Todd maintains his professional stance until the door closes behind her, then lets his shoulders sag in relief.

"I really didn't think that would work," he admits, turning to Dirk.

Dirk makes a noise that was maybe intended to be the beginning of a word, but doesn't get any farther. He's staring at Todd like he's a miracle. Todd feels himself go red.

"What?" he says.

Dirk shakes his head slowly, then moves towards Todd and kisses him, his hands sliding over Todd's hips. Todd inhales sharply. He guessed before that Dirk probably didn't have a lot of experience with kissing. It's not that he wasn't good at it–it's just that he mostly let Todd take the lead. But he's a little more confident this time, and it's doing funny things to Todd's insides. He grabs onto Dirk's shoulders and holds on as Dirk tilts his head, touching his tongue to Todd's lips. He shudders, and opens his mouth, letting Dirk in. Todd can't remember the last time he was able to shut his brain up for long enough to get lost in a kiss. Even during sex he's never really in the moment. But somehow, with Dirk breathing into his mouth, pressed up against him from chest to hip, the next few minutes pass in a kind of a pleasant blur.

"Dirk," he gasps eventually, putting his hands on Dirk's chest and putting a little distance between them.

"What?" Dirk pouts, straining towards him again, and Todd keeps him at arm's length, laughing.

"If you keep kissing me like that," he says, tracing his thumb over Dirk's bottom lip, "I'm not going to be able to concentrate on the case for a while."

Dirk blushes, looking pleased with himself.

Todd wonders, as he stares at Dirk's mouth like a helpless idiot, how it took him so long to notice how far gone he was for this guy. Right now he can't seem to stop noticing it.

"Thank you," Dirk says suddenly. "I meant to say it before, but I got distracted with all the kissing."

"Thank you for what?"

"For sticking up for me! For us, for our agency. The police never listen to me, and you just got her off my back with hardly any effort at all." He smiles at Todd, still hugging him around the waist. "You really are a marvel."

"It's not a big deal," Todd says, and Dirk tuts at him.

"Give yourself some credit, Todd," he says, letting go of Todd's waist and moving back to the fish tank. "Your assistance in this case has been invaluable, and I'm confident we're drawing closer to a solution."

"Dirk?" Todd asks, waiting for Dirk to hum in acknowledgement before he continues. "Do you have to solve this one? I mean, does it matter?"  

Dirk goes still and then slowly turns to look at him, still clutching the fish food.

"It's our case!" he says, confused. "Of course it matters."

"I didn't mean it like that," Todd says, wishing, not for the first time that day, that he was better at putting his thoughts into words. He takes a deep breath and starts again.

"When we first met, you told me that the cases you end up on, if you don't solve them, no one does. You told me you use your hunches to help people who need it. I've seen it, Dirk. I've seen you do it. You helped Lydia Spring. You helped Farah, and Amanda. You helped _me_."

Dirk is staring at him, eyes wide.

"Who is this helping?" Todd persists. "You're telling me the universe wants the rich people to have their priceless diamond back in their mansion? Why can't you walk away this once?"

"I don't know," Dirk says, looking lost. "I need to follow it through. I need to find it."

Todd sighs and scrubs at his face. They've both been attacked enough times this week, and he won't really rest easy until he gets Dirk home.

"I'm sorry," Dirk says, looking at his feet. "I know it's frustrating, believe me. Sometimes I wish I could walk away too." He hesitates and then says, "There's nothing stopping you, though."

Todd looks at him in disbelief. "Yes, Dirk, there _is_."

Dirk looks up at him, his mouth twisted like he's trying to keep his face from crumpling. Todd sighs. He moves towards Dirk, pries the fish food out of his hands, and lets himself slide his arms around Dirk's waist and rest his head on Dirk's shoulder. He feels Dirk's arms come up around him, feels one of Dirk's hands land in his hair. This touching thing is getting a little easier each time, he notices.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says into Dirk's shirt. Dirk sniffs a little and rests his cheek on Todd's head. "I'm just looking out for you. For both of us. It doesn't mean I'm going to up and leave. I don't know what to say to convince you that I want to be here. It's not a _favor_."

"It's just a little hard to believe," Dirk says. Todd pulls back and looks at him. Dirk looks calmer, but tired in a way Todd has never seen him before. "I keep thinking the ground is moving under my feet, because usually it is. I've never had anything to keep."

Todd kisses him because he can't think of anything to say, and hopes Dirk understands.

 

*

 

They go to Annette's in the afternoon, partly because Dirk wants to thank Cathy for calling the police, and partly because they can't think of anything else to do. Todd doesn't ask if Dirk's sudden insistence they go to the café is one of his special hunches, or just the regular kind, partly because he's not sure Dirk knows himself. He can sense that Dirk's confidence is a little shaken, but he has no idea how to reassure him. He follows along behind him, hoping that will be enough.

Cathy is wiping down tables when they get there, looking bored and humming along to the radio. She looks up as they enter, and her eyes widen.

"Dirk!" She drops her towel on the table, runs forward, and hugs him. Dirk looks taken aback.

"Hi, Cathy," he says, hugging her back awkwardly.

"Are you okay?" She steps back, looking between him and Todd anxiously. "I knew Steve was up to something when my gran saw him talking to you both. She said he looked like he was going to start a fight. She has a great nose for trouble, my gran."

"She certainly does," Dirk says, looking impressed. "Still, the police arrived in the nick of time, so no harm done. Thank you for calling them."

"So they arrested him? They arrested Steve?"

"Yeah," Todd says, "they're questioning him now about the kidnapping, but I got the impression he was guilty of... well, a lot of shit."

"Isn't that the bloody truth," she mutters. "Look, I have a box of his stuff, if it would help with your case. I brought it with me in case you called in."

"That would be very helpful," Dirk says. "Do you want us to come back when you're on your break?"

"Don't be silly," she says. She walks towards a doorway at the back and yells up the stairs, "Matt! I'm taking my break!"

She turns back to Dirk and gives him a thumbs up. "Half a mo," she says, "I'll get the stuff."

"I'm glad she's on our side," Todd says, watching as she ducks into the back room.

"Me too," Dirk says, "but I am equally glad that she doesn't actually work for me."

"Yeah," Todd says,  watching Cathy's jumpy manager scuttle down the stairs and take over wiping tables. "Seems like that would be stressful."

 

*

 

It's only five thirty when they leave the café, but Todd is feeling the combination of a sleepless night and a stressful day as they walk back to the hotel in the twilight. The adrenaline is ebbing away, and everything is tinged with a sheen of unreality. Every step feels like a struggle not to just lie down on the sidewalk and take a nap. He's puzzling over how unaffected Dirk seems to be, right up until he has to grab his elbow to stop him walking into traffic.

Dirk turns to blink at him, still holding the box Cathy gave to him. Todd carefully takes it out of his hands.

"Oh, Todd," he says, as if he hadn't been expecting to run into him. "Was I going the wrong way?"

"Yeah," Todd says. "That's the route for people who want to get hit by cars and die."

"Oh, dear," Dirk says, as if he's just now noticing the roaring traffic. "I think maybe I'm a little tired."

"No kidding," Todd says, steering him along the sidewalk. "Try to stick with me and stay away from any hazards until we get back to the hotel, okay?"

"Okay," Dirk says.

Todd, for at least 40% pragmatic reasons, slips his hand down to lace their fingers together. He holds on tight all the way back to the hotel.

Dirk makes it most of the way back to their room before he starts to lose the battle with his own tiredness, slumping against Todd in the hotel elevator as if he plans to make camp there for the night. Todd sighs.

"Dirk," he says, shaking him a little. "Come on, just stay awake for two more minutes. We're nearly at the room."

"Todd, I'm so _tired_." He's effectively pinning Todd in place, leaning half against him and half against the mirrored wall of the elevator.

"Yeah," Todd says, trying to suppress a yawn, "me too. Just try to stay upright until we get to a bed, okay?"

"Mmm, _bed_ ," Dirk says, sliding a little farther down the wall. Todd grabs his elbow to steady him, still balancing the box of Steve's stuff. "The hotel bed is much nicer than the one in my flat."

"Yeah," Todd says, dubiously. He still doesn't trust hotel beds. They're too high up, and the pillows are too fluffy. "I'll be happier when we're back home, in our own bed."

Dirk goes unnaturally still against him. Todd tenses.

"What? " he says. "Dirk, what is it?"

Dirk pushes himself away from the wall so that he can stare at Todd. Todd stares back at him in bemusement. Just as he's starting to worry, Dirk's face breaks into a smile. It's a great smile–it lights up his whole face, and crinkles around his eyes. It looks like every smile that Dirk has ever suppressed because he's trying to play it cool, except now he's not holding back. Todd has no idea what brought it out here, in this elevator.

"What?" he says again.

"Nothing," Dirk says, smiling wider. The elevator dings, and he takes Todd's hand, pulling him through the doors. "Come on. Let's get you to bed, Todd, you're a hazard."

Todd rolls his eyes and follows him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Does the universe ever send you somewhere nice?" Todd asks, sitting down and pouring himself a coffee. "Like, have you ever had a good surprise?"
> 
> "You mean apart from you?" Dirk asks, and smiles wider when Todd's cheeks turn red.
> 
> "Shut up and eat your toast," Todd says, hiding his face behind his coffee cup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! Sorry for the lengthy hiatus, I was working on a big bang fic that will hopefully see the light of day this summer. Here's some notes and things:
> 
> \- This chapter has some sexing! So if that's not your bag, give this one a miss. Or you can stop reading when you get to the kissing, and do a search for the word "Cathy" to get to the beginning of the next bit.
> 
> \- For anyone not familiar with the term, getting "sent down" is old timey British university slang for getting kicked out of college.
> 
> \- I'd like to thank inkyfishes for betaing part of this chapter, and being lovely and insightful and helpful. <3 
> 
> \- Seriously sorry for the lengthy intervals between chapters of late. I promise this fic is not getting abandoned, I've just been a little busier than normal.

That night, Dirk dreams that he's back in St. Cedd's.

It's a sunny day–it's always sunny when he dreams of Cambridge, even though it rained while he was there more often than not–and he's standing outside his old halls. He's watching the students rush back and forth, chatting and laughing and stressing about exams. He can feel, deep in his gut, that he's meant to be somewhere, but he can't figure out which direction to go. He sees Gary across the court, talking to his PhD supervisor, but he can't bring himself to call out, or follow him, so he watches him out of sight and then closes his eyes, trying to concentrate on the little tug behind his navel that always leads him where he needs to go.

When he opens his eyes again, Gary is standing in front of him. Dirk starts, stepping backwards.

"Never let them see you cry," Gary says. "Never let them see you bleed."

"I tried that," Dirk says. "It didn't help."

"Would it help now?" Gary asks.

"I don't know," Dirk says. "I can't see where I'm going."

"I can only give you the messages," Gary says. "You have to solve them alone."

"I know," Dirk says. "I always have."

He closes his eyes and feels the quality of the air shift. One moment he's standing in St Cedd's, clutching his books and breathing in the smell of leather and coffee and cut grass, and the next he's standing outside the Ridgely, leaning against the Corvette and trying to figure out what he's going to say when his new best friend comes out.

He's got off to a bad start, he knows, breaking into his apartment. In hindsight, he ought to have known that wouldn't make a favourable first impression. But he can't bring himself to believe that he's blown his chance. His neck is stiff and sore from sleeping in the car, and his stomach is roiling with anxiety as he looks up at the red brick building. Maybe pizza for breakfast wasn't the best idea. He looks down and blinks at the stack of textbooks in his arms. That's not right. He left Cambridge years ago.

The door opens across the street and the man from the day before emerges, wearing a blue shirt and a guitar and a scowl. Dirk glances down. The books are gone. He takes a deep breath and fixes a smile on his face as he steps forward. Time for a stellar second impression.

Before he can greet his new friend, the street starts to flicker around him, his vision going dim around the edges. He's somewhere colder now, wearing a scratchy t-shirt and sleeping on a lumpy mattress. The lightbulb is flickering, and he feels a cold squeezing in his chest. He doesn't like the dark.

The bulb goes with a tiny _pop_ , plunging him into darkness, and he sits up, breathing fast. He tries to figure out where the door is, but he can't even find up and down. He doesn't even know where he is. St Cedd's? The Perriman Grand? Blackwing? He flails out blindly, gasping and kicking at the blankets tangled around his legs, and tries to feel for the edge of the bed, but it goes on _forever_ , this bed defies the laws of physics, it's an impossible bed and he's trapped–

" _Dirk_!"

He feels hands grab onto his wrists, holding firmly but not painfully. He breathes in the familiar smell and thinks _Todd_ , and then _London_ , and he stops flailing immediately, turning desperately towards Todd's warmth.

"It's okay," Todd is saying, loosening his grip on Dirk's wrists. "It's just a nightmare."

He pulls Dirk back down to lie next to him and Dirk grabs on as tight as he can, winding his arms around Todd's torso, and burying his face in Todd's neck. Todd rubs his back, muttering into his hair.

"It's okay. Everything's okay."

"Sorry," Dirk says, once he's got his breath back. Todd shushes him.

"What did we say?" he asks, and Dirk sighs.

"No apologising for nightmares. Or attacks."

"It's been a while since they were that bad," Todd says, obviously trying to sound neutral. "Is it because of Steve?"

"Not exactly," Dirk says, his face pressed against Todd's skin. He wishes Todd wasn't always so good at knowing the right questions to ask. It wouldn't be so inconvenient if Dirk was half as good at coming up with answers.

"You've been meeting a lot of old friends this week," Todd says, and Dirk squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe if he just lies here and says nothing, Todd will say all the things he's scared of for him.

"They're not my friends," he says, when Todd doesn't say anything else.

"I know," Todd says. "I get it. I don't really like running into people from college either."

"Mike," Dirk says, still talking into the crook of Todd's neck.

"Yeah," Todd says, "Mike. Although, Mike wasn't the worst of them. He was just a guy in my dorm. And you saw how weird I got with him. It's not always the person themselves that's the problem, right?"

Dirk says nothing, but he tightens his arms a little to let Todd know he's still listening.

"It's the association," Todd says. "They knew you before you were who you are now. Their information is out of date."

Dirk sighs in relief, because _yes_. That's it, that it's exactly.

"How do you do that?" he asks, and he feels Todd's shoulders move as he tries to shrug while lying down.

"I haven't been through what you have," he says. "But I've changed a lot too."

Dirk kisses his neck, already feeling sleepy again.

"I know," he murmurs. "I know you have."

When he drifts under again, he doesn't dream.

 

*

 

The next time he's woken up, it's by a newspaper landing on his face.

He doesn't figure this out right away–instead he flails around under the duvet for a few moments, clawing at the paper and kicking fruitlessly at the air, locked in a silent but intense battle with absolutely nothing.

When he finally flings the paper away and sits up, sputtering, the first thing he sees is Todd, arms folded, smirking at him from the end of the bed.

"Morning," Todd says.

"Morning," Dirk says automatically, running a hand through his hair and blinking rapidly in an attempt to wake up. It takes a second for his brain to catch up to what happened.

"No!" he says, indignantly. "Not _morning_. You attacked me with a newspaper, don't try to distract me with pleasantries!"

Todd comes to sit next to him on the bed, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. He smells like coffee and cold air.

"Sorry," he says, pulling back.

"It's alright," Dirk says, smiling a little dopily. It takes him a second to realise he's done it again. "No! It's not! You are so sneaky this morning. Why did you throw a newspaper at me?"

Todd is laughing now, his lips pursed in that way that means he's trying to keep a straight face.

"Read the horoscope," he says, picking up the now crumpled newspaper and handing it to Dirk. Dirk takes it suspiciously and flips to the horoscope section.

" _Follow the friend who was cut but never bleeds_." He looks back up at Todd, feeling suddenly cold. "That sounds ominous. What does it mean?"

"It's a riddle," Todd says. "An old riddle."

"Okay," Dirk says. "You're a bit ahead of me..."

"And," Todd says producing another newspaper seemingly from nowhere, "look at today's horoscope."

"Wait," Dirk says, taking the second paper from him, "that was yesterday's? Where did you get a copy of yesterday's paper?"

"I found it in the Tube station," Todd says impatiently. "That's not important, Dirk–focus!"

"The _Tube_ station?" Dirk says, distressed. "And you threw it in my face? I probably have the plague! Or dysentery!"

"You don't even know what dysentery is!"

"I know it's _bad_."

"Dirk, just read the horoscope!" Todd opens the paper to the correct page and shoves it under Dirk's nose.  Dirk grumbles, but takes it.

" _Seek a room full of history, that's nobody's home_."

He looks up at Todd dubiously.

"It seems like Gary's getting a little pompous for the horoscope column, but I still don't get it," he admits. Todd beams at him, and bounds over to the table. Dirk watches in fond bafflement as Todd picks up an envelope and a piece of paper and leaps back onto the bed like an overenthusiastic cat, practically landing in Dirk's lap.

He opens the envelope and pulls out the key they'd received yesterday with a flourish.

"A friend who was cut but never bleeds," he says, brandishing the key at Dirk. Dirk raises his eyebrows, impressed, but before he can say anything Todd waves the piece of paper in his face. Dirk tries to focus on it, squinting.

"Hold it still," he says, grabbing Todd's hand.

It's a receipt for a storage unit in Battersea, with the name Steve Mander on it.

"A room full of history, that's nobody's home," he murmurs, and looks back at Todd in amazement. Todd grins widely at him.

"Solved it," he crows, pumping his arms, and Dirk has no choice but to tackle him to the bed and kiss him breathless.

"You," he says, between kisses, "are magnificent."

Todd laughs into his mouth, grabbing his waist.

"They're just riddles," he says, his eyes shining with excitement. Dirk loves seeing him like this.

" _Just_ nothing," he says, kissing Todd again. He leans a little more of his weight on him, feeling Todd's arms tighten around his back. His legs are tangled up with Todd's, and half-tangled in the duvet. "You are a bloody marvel."

"I'm not the one who's psy–" Dirk kisses him again to shut him up. He realises dimly that this may have been Todd's plan in saying that word in the first place.

"You," he mumbles against Todd's mouth, "are so sneaky this morning. It's really unfair."

"Dirk," Todd groans, chasing Dirk's mouth with his. Dirk rubs his nose against Todd's cheek, and feels Todd sigh. This close, the smell of toothpaste lingers under the coffee, his breath warm on Dirk's face.

Dirk turns his head slightly and they're kissing again, and this time it's different. He can feel it, a sense of momentum that wasn't there before. His hands shake as he fumbles at the buttons of Todd's shirt. He kicks the duvet away where it's bunched between them and lowers his hips, gasping as one of Todd's legs moves between his. Then Todd grabs his hand and says, "Dirk–"

They still for a moment, Todd's hands covering his where they're undoing his shirt buttons. Dirk looks at their hands, afraid to look at Todd’s face in case Todd says that Dirk is doing it wrong, that he wants to stop.

"Dirk," Todd says, putting his hand on Dirk's cheek. Dirk looks him in the eye. Todd’s cheeks are red, he’s breathing fast, and he’s staring at Dirk’s mouth. Dirk’s heart kicks in his chest.

"Dirk, do you want–we don't have to–"

Dirk lowers his head again and kisses him, very deliberately, licking into Todd's mouth. Todd groans and moves his hips again, and Dirk is glad he's on a bed, because his legs feel a little wobbly.

With Todd’s help, he manages to wrestle his t-shirt off over his head. Todd pulls off his own shirt without bothering to undo the remaining buttons, leaving his hair mussed and chaotic as his hands gravitate back to Dirk’s waist. He shivers as Todd's hands stroke his sides and skim up his back, his skin feeling tingly and raw and fantastic wherever Todd touches him.

"Todd," he says, not sure what he's asking for. He strokes his hands over Todd’s chest, fingers trembling. "Todd, please–"

"It's okay," Todd says, soothingly. He struggles up on one elbow to kiss him, his fingers sliding into Dirk's hair and gripping lightly. Dirk feels lightheaded, like he hasn't eaten for days. Blood is rushing in his ears.

It takes him a second to notice that Todd is pushing at his shoulders, urging him to lie back. He complies in a daze and watches as Todd wriggles gracelessly out of his jeans. They get caught on his feet and he huffs in frustration, kicking them off, before he crawls up to kneel over him.

"It's okay," he says again, kissing Dirk's face–his cheek, his eyelids, his temple. Dirk huffs out a laugh when he feels a kiss to his chin. Todd smiles against his mouth.

"How are you real?" Dirk says wonderingly, looking up at him. Todd laughs.

"I think that's my line," he says, trailing his hand down Dirk's chest. He stops as he reaches the waistband of Dirk's pyjama bottoms, looking at him questioningly. Dirk exhales and nods vigorously, lifting his hips off the bed and letting Todd pull his pyjamas and underwear off in one movement. His hands are warm and careful and he stops to stroke the scar on Dirk’s knee, once, with his thumb before he throws the bottoms aside. He pushes Dirk’s legs apart and kneels between them, letting his eyes travel over him slowly. His hands absently stroke Dirk’s thighs as he tilts his head and studies his erection. Dirk’s heart beats madly in his chest. It’s been a long time since he was naked in front of anyone.

“You–you too,” he croaks, trying for some bravado as he nods at Todd’s boxers. Todd’s eyes fly back up to his face. Dirk isn’t sure what he sees there, but he looks concerned.

“You okay?” he says, softly.

“Yes,” Dirk says, even though he’s trembling a little, every muscle in his body taut. Todd does his frowny eyebrows at him and then his face clears and he leans in, his hands sliding up Dirk’s chest to cradle his jaw. He hovers over Dirk’s mouth for an agonisingly long moment before he kisses him again. It’s a long, deep kiss, like Todd’s trying to drink him in. He feels the tension melting out of his shoulders as he kisses back, forgetting to be self-conscious for a moment. He’s smiling when Todd pulls away, and Todd smiles back, running his hand through Dirk’s hair.

“Off,” Dirk says, his voice thankfully sounding normal again as he tugs at Todd’s boxers. Todd smiles wider and pushes them down his hips, lifting one leg at a time to pull them off. They’re both naked now, and Dirk takes a second to marvel at the turns his life has taken to get him here: he’s in his thirties, alive, free, tracking down missing heiresses and stolen diamonds, and he’s excited, for maybe the first time, to go to bed with someone.

He's tried this before–or something like this–and in his experience it usually ends in one or both parties being disappointed. Usually him. Once or twice the other party awkwardly asked if he wanted anything else, but at that point, he usually just wanted to leave. A couple of times he even managed to finish, eyes scrunched shut and breath caught in his throat, but it never felt quite as satisfying or pleasurable as other people described. He has never, ever, in his _life,_ felt anything like this.

He tries to keep track of every little detail as it happens, but maybe that's not how this is supposed to work, because now they're both naked it’s much harder to focus. Todd's hands are everywhere, and then Todd is rocking slowly against him and kissing his neck, and all Dirk can do is hold onto him, gasping and rocking in time. The feel of Todd’s body against his is shockingly good.

He reaches down, quite daringly, and grabs two handfuls of Todd's arse. Todd groans, and bites gently at his neck. The jolt that goes through him at the brief sting is unexpected and magnificent.

" _Oh_ ," he says, tilting his head back, and Todd does it again, and kisses it better right afterwards. He pulls away and Dirk makes a discontented noise and tries to pull him back, before he notices Todd fumbling a bottle of hand lotion out of the duffel by the bed, and okay yes, excellent idea. He leans over Dirk, half propped up on one elbow, and wraps a slick hand around them both. Dirk whimpers into Todd's hair.

"Todd," he says again, and then Todd starts to move his hand. Dirk can't form any kind of coherent speech, but that doesn't seem to matter. Todd kisses him messily and twists his hand just so–

"Oh," Dirk says, his fingers digging into Todd’s shoulders, "Todd, oh _fuck–_ "

Todd makes a high-pitched noise and jerks his hips, stopping briefly to squeeze his eyes shut.

" _Dirk_ ," he manages, taking a deep breath, "Jesus."

Dirk gives him a second–he's fairly sure he needs a second himself–and then Todd opens his eyes and stares at him, his chest heaving. He’s open-mouthed and flushed all the way down his chest, and Dirk can't breathe properly for looking at him. Todd takes hold of them both again, still staring at Dirk like he doesn’t know how to look away, and thrusts into his own hand. Dirk gasps and snaps his hips up, and Todd thrusts again, and again, sliding against him.

There's a rhythm building between them, and Dirk follows it blindly, overwhelmed by the feel of Todd's skin, so warm everywhere it's pressed against his. He can feel something swelling inside him that would almost be painful if it weren't so bloody good, getting closer with every movement of their hips. He becomes aware he's making quite a lot of noise.

"Sorry," he gasps, biting his lip against another groan. Todd looks into his face wildly, his eyes wide and his hair mussed and mutters, "Jesus _Christ_ ," kissing him roughly.

His hand speeds up as Dirk kisses him back clumsily, keeping one hand on the back of Todd's head to hold him close. Suddenly there's an urgency that wasn't there before, their hips moving erratically as Todd pumps them frantically. He's making little gasping sounds and kissing random parts of Dirk's face and neck, and Dirk is on _fire_. He squeezes Todd's arse again and Todd curses and tightens his hand, and suddenly Dirk's whole body curves upwards in shock, and he's going, going, _gone._ He feels Todd follow him a second later, gasping Dirk's name into his neck and jerking. For a long moment, neither of them moves save the rise and fall of their chests, pressed together where Todd is draped warmly all along his front. 

He wraps his arms around Todd’s back, his hands drawing random shapes on his sweat-damp skin as he waits for the thumping of his heart to slow. Things are starting to feel unpleasantly sticky, but Dirk couldn’t move if his life depended on it.

Eventually Todd kisses his neck and rolls off him and they lie in silence side by side, Dirk's mind reeling as he breathes the passing seconds in and out. Todd's arm is touching his, warm and solid.

Just as Dirk’s brain is starting to function normally again, Todd says, "I had no idea you were so into riddles."

Dirk turns his head on the pillow to look at him and suddenly they're both laughing, and it's good: they still feel like them. It's a feeling Dirk's not sure he could do without, now that he's got used to it.

He turns onto his side, tucking his arm under his head to look at Todd, and Todd raises his eyebrows and turns to match him, reaching out for his hand.

"Was that normal?" Dirk asks, watching Todd's thumb stroking his hand. "Is that what it's always like, for you?"

Todd looks at him, and Dirk can see a dozen questions he wants to ask, but he just smiles faintly at him and says, "No."

 

*

 

They go through the rest of the things in the box Cathy gave them after they've showered and dressed. Dirk is half-heartedly drinking the terrible tea that comes from individually packaged teabags in hotel rooms, and blushing every time he looks at Todd. Todd declines the tiny sachets of coffee, and stands slightly closer to Dirk than he usually does, his hair damp and curling at the ends. Dirk has to make several not insignificant efforts to focus on the task at hand.

The box is full of what someone of a poetic disposition might kindly term "ephemera", and what Dirk is tempted to label "utter shit". Among other things, there's an old St. Cedd's t-shirt, a bicycle lock, a wireless mouse, and a heap of old CDs.

"This guy has been in a lot of bands," Todd says, pulling out a cheap looking CD case. " _Spacebar_. Electro punk." He pulls out another." _Manderson_. Indie punk."

He laughs at the next one, holding it up for Dirk to see.

" _Green Cortina_ ," Dirk reads. "Oh, I like that! He spends all those years holding a grudge that I stole his car, and all this time I've been a source of musical inspiration to him!"

He takes another sip of his tea and pulls a face, setting it aside.

Todd pulls out a small, velvet drawstring pouch, and empties the contents into his hands.

"Guitar picks," Dirk says, coming around his shoulder to look at them. "They've got his old bands' logos on them too. Do you think–"

He jumps, as there's a very loud, very unpolice-like knock on the door. He turns to look in bafflement.

"Who could that be?"

He's not really expecting an answer, but Todd clears his throat and goes to open the door. There's someone outside with a tea trolley, and Todd smiles, thanks him, and rolls the trolley inside.

"What's this?" Dirk asks, staring at the teapot, coffeepot, and two covered plates.

"I thought..." Todd trails off, looking embarrassed. "I ordered us breakfast. While you were in the shower."

Dirk beams at him and Todd goes redder, moving the box off of the table and starting to bring the plates and cups over.

"It's lovely, Todd," Dirk says, trying to tone down his smile and completely failing.

"It's just breakfast," Todd says, but he looks like he's at the "secretly pleased" end of his spectrum of disgruntlement.

"Well," Dirk says, sitting down, "if we're going to go hunting through a room full of Steve Mander's dirty secrets, I need a little nourishment."

Todd makes a face.

"Does the universe ever send you somewhere nice?" he asks, sitting down and pouring himself a coffee. "Like, have you ever had a _good_ surprise?"

"You mean apart from you?" Dirk asks, and smiles wider when Todd's cheeks turn red.

"Shut up and eat your toast," Todd says, hiding his face behind his coffee cup. Dirk grins and reaches for the marmalade.

 

*

 

They're halfway across the lobby, arguing about whether to take Steve's old car or just get the train, when Dirk spots Gilks striding towards them determinedly.

"Oh, bloody hell," he mutters, stopping in his tracks.

"Shit," Todd says, walking into him, and grabbing Dirk's waist in a highly distracting manner to steady himself.

"Gently!" Gilks bellows as she gets closer.

One of the reasons Dirk chose his current last name is because people were always talking loudly and aggressively at him, and _gently_ was the least aggressive word he could think of. In much the same way as it goes against a primal human instinct to shout the word _whisper_ , it's very difficult to bellow _Gently._ However, Sergeant Gilks, like every police officer that Dirk has ever met, seems immune to this rationale, and cheerfully throws his name around like it's an ancient battle cry, or the name of a favourite yet unlucky rugby team.

"Good morning, Sergeant Gilks," he says, keeping his voice at a civilised volume. "Isn't it a _lovely_ –"

"Yes, yes," she says, planting herself between them and the door. "Lovely day, lovely hotel, lovely diamond theft. I said I'd give you some time, and I have. Any leads?"

"Well," Dirk says, "as a matter of fact, we were just on our way to investigate Steve Mander's storage unit."

She looks at him suspiciously.

"What's up with you?" she asks. "You're even more garishly cheerful than usual."

Dirk feels himself go bright red, and hears Todd cough from behind him.

"Nothing!" he says, his voice coming out just a tad too high-pitched. "Just... feeling optimistic. We have a key–did I mention the mysterious key?"

He takes the key and the receipt out of his pocket and explains the delivery, and the box of Steve's things they'd got from Cathy. He leaves out the horoscopes for now. He doesn't think it will add to their credibility.

"Where did you say you got this key?" she asks, turning it over and examining the plastic fob.

"It was delivered to Dirk's old building," Todd says.

"But... you don't live there anymore."

"No," Dirk says, "we were there talking to Dominique."

"We think it was the same person who sent us the guitar pick," Todd says, and Dirk nods vigorously.

"Yes! There's another player here, and I'm honestly not sure whether they're trying to help us, or kill us, or just pass the time."

"Wait." Gilks puts her hand up like she can physically stop the stream of words. Dirk closes his mouth with an effort, and bounces on his feet impatiently. One of the things he likes about working with Todd is that he can mostly keep up with the stream of Dirk's thoughts, and doesn't require constant explanations. The official police usually find it difficult to follow his more inspired leaps of logic.

"When you left Mander's house," Gilks is saying, "it was the middle of the night. What time did this delivery come to your old building?"

"A little after six in the morning," Todd says, and as he says it, Dirk suddenly realises it was a little odd.

"That's a bit early for first post," Gilks says. "Was he a courier? Was he wearing a uniform? A badge?"

"Um..." Todd looks at him, and Dirk shrugs helplessly.

"He had a clipboard," he tells Gilks. "Todd signed it."

"It was definitely the same guy who delivered the guitar pick," Todd says. "But that was in the afternoon."

"So what you're telling me is you've had two mysterious deliveries to your flat this week, at completely different times of day, one of them coincidentally taking place at six am in the brief window of time you were back at the building after having moved to a hotel. These deliveries were made by the same man, who wasn't wearing any kind of uniform or ID badge, and who just seemed to magically know when you'd be home."

"Well," Dirk says, feeling rather silly all of a sudden. "I suppose it could be significant."

Todd looks distraught. "I can't believe I didn't notice he wasn't wearing a uniform."

"What did he look like?" Gilks produces a tiny notebook from one of her pockets. "Give me a description."

"Um," Todd scratches his head. "White guy, late thirties, taller than me but shorter than Dirk, I think. Kind of... average looking. Seemed pretty bored."

"Dark hair," Dirk says, "and a palpable sense of ennui. Dirty fingernails."

"He was wearing a navy baseball cap," Todd adds, face screwed up in thought. "And jeans. I think."

"Very unfriendly," Dirk adds. "He didn't even say hello to Janice."

She looks up from her notebook warily.

"Who's Janice?"

"My fish," Dirk says. She sighs.

"Okay," she says, making a show out of peering at her scribbled notes. "White male, late thirties, average looking, possibly dislikes fish. That should narrow it down."

"We gave you more than that!" Dirk objects.

"Gently, if you think I'm telling a bunch of coppers to keep their eyes peeled for a man with _a palapable sense of ennui_ , you are dreaming. I'd like to cling to a shred of credibility for as long as possible."

"He must have been watching your apartment," Todd says, staring at Dirk. "He delivered the key right when we showed up at your building again for the first time in days."

"But _why_?" Dirk says. "If he's not with Steve and Phantom then who is he? What's his interest in the case?"

"Does he even know about the diamond?" Todd asks, and Dirk has to scrunch his eyes shut for a moment as the different layers of the case clash and overlap. It's nowhere near as complicated as the Patrick Spring case–or even that Thor thing–but it feels different. This is more personal than his cases usually get, and it's a little harder to simply view it as a puzzle.

There's a prickling in the back of his skull that he associates with Blackwing, or the Rowdy 3 and their awful van. He's unsure if it's a sign of bad things to come, or if he's just afraid. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes to find Todd watching him uncertainly, and Gilks tactfully studying her notebook a few feet away.

"Hey," Todd says, moving towards him. "Everything okay?"

"Yes," Dirk says, "of course. Fine. It's just that every development in this case so far has involved someone I know personally, and I'm a little wary of that trend."

"Don't take this the wrong way," Todd says delicately, "but can you think of anyone who might... you know. Want to kill you? Apart from Steve."

"No!" Dirk holds his hands up. "I know that's hard to believe, but I'm honestly stumped. But if he sent that guitar pick..."

"...then he knows who Steve and Phantom are," Todd finishes. "He wanted us to think they were after us."

"So maybe it's not you he's after at all," Gilks says, looking up from her notebook. "It's Steve Mander."

"You said Steve had enemies," Dirk says. "Do any of them fit the description we gave you?"

She looks at him appraisingly, and he tries to draw himself up and look professional, a battle he usually loses before he begins. Todd moves to stand behind his shoulder and he feels a little better.

"I'll look into it," she says at last. "What are you two planning next?"

"I suppose we're going to go to the storage unit," Dirk says. "Gary seemed to think the key was significant."

"Who's Gary?"

"My astrologist." Dirk tells her.

"Of _course_ ," she mutters. "Well, check in with me when you get there, and when you get back to the hotel. If I don't hear from you tonight, I'll assume you've been kidnapped by a pyromaniac, fish-hating postman."

"Well," Dirk says, "now that you've _said_ that, I'm sure we will be."

"You know," Todd says, after Gilks has rolled her eyes one last time and stalked back to her car, "I think she actually likes you."

Dirk perks up.

"Do you think so? Oh," he says, looking at Todd's face, "you're making fun of me. Very nice. Anyway _you_ like me, so the joke's on you."

"Yeah," Todd says, looking amused, "I guess it is."

 

*

 

Dirk catches Todd staring at him twice on the Tube, and he's fairly certain Todd catches him staring a lot more than that.

He thinks about what Gilks said and wonders if he looks different than he did yesterday. Is he smiling too much? Are people looking at him and wondering what he's so happy about? He realises belatedly that he's staring at Todd again, and Todd is looking back, grinning slightly.

Dirk blushes and looks away about forty five seconds too late to be anything resembling smooth.

Todd edges a little closer in his peripheral vision, his hand brushing against Dirk's as they sway with the rocking of the carriage. Dirk feels Todd's pinky finger hook around his own.

"You don't have to pretend you're not looking," Todd says, quietly.

Dirk sniffs, pretending to be extremely preoccupied.

"Excuse me, but you're distracting me from my very important detective work."

"Oh, really? My bad." Todd retracts his hand, and Dirk grabs for it immediately, slipping his fingers between Todd's.

"Okay," he says, "that was a bluff. You can keep distracting me if you like."

Todd laughs and sways closer.

 

*

By the time they get to the storage facility in Battersea, the sky is darkening, and spitting erratic drops of rain. Dirk shivers and zips up his jacket.

The old man at the front desk doesn't ask them for ID, or show the slightest bit of interest beyond asking them to sign his grubby logbook. Dirk writes Steve's name and the number from the key fob, and he waves them through, already going back to his newspaper. Either the universe is on their side today, or Steve just frequents the dodgiest storage facility in London. Dirk supposes it could be both.

Steve's unit turns out to be very similar to the box Cathy gave them, only on a much larger scale. There's a lot of merchandise from bands he's in been in over the years, some bits and pieces from his time at Cambridge, and various books and knick knacks. Mostly, it's just assorted rubbish.

"Wow," Todd says, holding up a digital alarm clock shaped like a banana, "who knew Steve was such a packrat?"

"Why on earth would he keep all this stuff?" Dirk wonders, crouching down to sift through a box full of old issues of the _Beano_.

"I guess he–" Todd starts to say, but whatever the end of the sentence is, Dirk doesn't hear it, because there's a rushing in his ears and his heart is pounding like a jackhammer.

He reaches out and slowly picks up the silver locket sitting on top of a pile of old textbooks. His hands are trembling. He looks around for a chair and, when he can't find one, sits heavily on the floor.

"Dirk?" Todd says, his voice sharp. "Are you okay?"

"I thought it had been stolen," Dirk whispers, staring at it. "He told me someone had broken into our room. They took my phone too, and Steve's CD player, and some shoes and clothes and things. I suppose he was able to flog all the rest of the stuff, apart from this."

"What is it?" Todd asks, sitting down next to Dirk on the dusty floor. The locket looks the same as the last time Dirk saw it–maybe a little grubbier, could use a polish, but achingly familiar.

"It's..." he clears his throat and tries again. "It's mine."

He opens the locket and looks at the pictures inside. They're a little more faded than he remembers.

"That's you," Todd says, glancing at Dirk's face and back at the picture. It is him of course, although it's been a long time since he's seen any childhood pictures of himself that weren't CIA mugshots. "Is that..."

"My mother," Dirk says. "It's the only picture of her they let me keep, in Blackwing. It was stolen from our room in university. At least, that's what Steve told me. I tried to solve the case of who had taken it, but I ended up on a wild goose chase. I thought it was gone forever."

"That _bastard_ ," Todd says vehemently.

"Sorry," he adds, when Dirk looks at him, startled. "That's probably not helpful. I just... I really hate that guy."

"Me too," Dirk admits, looking back at his mother. "Mum always told me we shouldn't hate people. I tried not to. I tried for a long time. But I couldn't always help it. I suppose I'm not as good as she was."

"You are," Todd says, putting his hand in Dirk's hair. "You are good." Dirk shifts on the dirty floor, letting his head drop to Todd's shoulder.

"You're good," Todd says. He says it again as he pets Dirk's hair, kissing the top of his head. "You're good."

 

*

 

"It was me," Dirk says, as they emerge from the stuffy storage unit. He leans against the shabby concrete wall, still clutching his mother's locket. "I remember now. The friend who was cut but never bleeds. That was a hint for me, but I couldn't place it."

Todd looks at him quizzically, but doesn't push him to elaborate.

"The thing... with Steve's car," he says, avoiding Todd's eyes. "It was right after this locket went missing. I was a bit upset. After I got sent down, and Gary came and bailed me out... he said to me, _Never let them see you cry. Never let them see you bleed_."

"That's... bleak," Todd says.

"Yes," Dirk says, "and I was never very good at it. Hiding my feelings, I mean. Steve used to call me Old Faithful, because I was always turning on the waterworks."

"Wow," Todd says, "I really wish I'd hit that guy when I had the chance."

"But don't you see, Todd? It's about me! Which means I'm the key!"

"Well sure," Todd says, frowning at him. "We already knew this case was personal–"

"It's not personal," Dirk says, feeling suddenly elated. "It's not about me at all!"

"But you just _said_ –"

Dirk pushes himself off the wall, pacing as he works his way through it.

"I said that I'm the key! The same way _you_ were the key to me figuring out the Patrick Spring case. You found the crime scene, you found the dog, you _lived_ in the victim's old apartment. I had to meet you for everything to come together they way it did. But you weren't involved. You were just... the epicentre."

"Okay..." Todd says, slowly. "So now you're the epicentre. Has that ever happened before?"

"No," Dirk says, "it hasn't. And frankly I don't care for it. I can see now why you were so grumpy when I first met you."

"You _broke into my apartment_ ," Todd says. Dirk ignores him.

"Okay," he says, "so if I'm the key, I think I know which period in my life is the lock."

"I'm not sure that metaphor really works," Todd says, leaning against the wall and watching him.

"Yes!" Dirk says, pointing at him. "That's exactly right, Todd! St Cedd's! That's where we need to direct our focus."

"Sure," Todd folds his arms. "That's exactly what I said."

"So," Dirk says, "that means the room..."

He trails off, staring at Todd. There's an idea taking shape in his mind, but it hasn't quite caught up with what's coming out of his mouth yet.

Todd raises his eyebrows.

"The room..." he prompts, twirling his hand encouragingly.

"That's it!" Dirk breathes, hopping from one foot to the other. "Oh! I know where to go next!"

Todd pushes himself off the wall, grinning.

"Well then," he says, "what are we waiting for?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My goodness," Reg says, "he is direct, isn't he?"
> 
>  
> 
> "Not usually," Dirk says.
> 
>  
> 
> Todd smacks him on the arm.
> 
>  
> 
> "Ow! What? I had to get locked in a room with you to get you to make a move!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back! If anyone is still following this story, I'm aiming to have it finished before season 2 airs. Hope you enjoy!

"Cambridge?" Todd says again, glancing sideways at Dirk in the driver's seat. "Really?"

"Yes," Dirk says, "really."

Todd knows it's unproductive to keep asking the same thing, but he's kind of hoping Dirk, who has been winding himself increasingly tight since they left the storage unit, will change his mind and turn back.

The whole way back to the hotel he hardly said a word, the triumph of his epiphany fading as he sat next to Todd on the tube, drumming his fingers on his knee. Todd eventually grabbed his hand to still him, but even when he subsided and clung onto Todd's hand instead, his leg kept jiggling, like it was beyond his control. When they got back to the hotel, he led Todd silently to the parking lot and hopped in the driver's seat of Steve's car before Todd could argue. Todd still can't tell if he's excited or filled with dread. He guesses there's no reason it can't be both.

Todd realises halfway there that they skipped lunch and dinner, and browbeats Dirk into stopping at a gas station, where they buy awful pre-packaged sandwiches and eat them in Steve's car. It's already getting dark.

Dirk is quiet, but when Todd brushes the back of his hand he gives him a real smile, and leans over hesitantly to kiss the corner of his mouth.

"Was that..." Dirk gestures at the car windows, at the people outside, pumping gas and buying disgusting sandwiches, "... was that okay?"

It takes Todd a second to realise that Dirk is asking if it's okay to kiss him in public. He wonders what Dirk would do if he said no. He'd probably accept it, probably wouldn't even think he deserved better, which is a little more power than Todd is comfortable with. He feels dizzy with it suddenly, this power to hurt Dirk, as if he's standing at the edge of a precipice and he can't trust his own feet not to walk him off of it.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, of course."

Dirk brightens a little and pulls his seatbelt back on. The moment of vertigo passes.

"You're sure you wanna drive?" Todd asks, putting his own seatbelt on and resisting the urge to brace himself on the dash.

_"Yes_ ," Dirk says, putting the car in gear and swinging the car around with minimal mirror checking. Practically non-existent. If Todd was being generous, he'd say Dirk _glanced_ at the mirrors. "It's my turn! We agreed."

"I agreed to nothing," Todd says, scrunching his eyes shut and then immediately opening them again, because _imagining_ Dirk's driving is even worse than seeing it. "You grabbed the keys out of my hand and sprinted to the car. I had no choice but to let you drive."

"Well," Dirk says, "you chose to come along rather than stay at the hotel. That's a kind of agreement."

"You're on shaky ground here," Todd informs him.

"Aren't I always?" Dirk says. Todd thinks he looks a little better than he did pre-sandwiches.

"You know we don't have to do this today," Todd says, as Dirk eases back into the highway traffic. He watches as Dirk's hands tighten and relax on the steering wheel, the skin on his knuckles turning white.

"I know," Dirk says. "It's fine, Todd. Don't fuss."

"Don't _fuss_?" Todd says. "Are you kidding me? There might not be any time travel or cults involved in this case that I know of, but there's no shortage of people who want to kill you. I'm entitled to a little fussing."

Dirk smiles a small little smile, his lips pressed together like he's trying to keep it to himself.

"Well," he says, "in that case, carry on."

*

As they walk across a yellow-lit courtyard, passing the occasional bored looking student on the way, Dirk seems to relax a little.

"It looks exactly the same," he says, looking around.

"Is that good?" Todd asks.

Dirk shrugs, pulling the same face he makes when Todd asks him to help with the laundry.

"I'm not sure," he says. "It's... more okay than I thought it might be."

They reach a small door in the corner of the courtyard and Dirk stands, staring at it.

"Dirk?" Todd prompts.

Dirk startles, and smiles at him apologetically.

"Right," he says, and knocks.

"Come in," a voice calls from inside, and Dirk pushes the door open, walks inside, and stops short. Todd walks into him. Again.

"Can you _stop_ doing that?" he says, grabbing Dirk's arm so he doesn't fall over.

"I told you he'd be here," a familiar voice says, and Todd looks up to see Gary, resplendent in a forest green robe, but sans bird, sitting in a leather wingback armchair beside a roaring fire.

"Oh, for–" Todd says. "What are you doing here?"

A stooped, white-haired man rises from an identical leather chair on the other side of the fire, an unconvincing expression of surprise on his face.

"Dirk," he says, "how nice to see you. Has your American friend been wronged in some way by my guest, or does he greet everyone so rudely?"

"Sorry," Todd says automatically, and then scowls as Gary inclines his head gracefully.

"Hello, Reg," Dirk says apologetically. "I'm afraid it's been a rather trying week. This is my partner, Todd. Todd, this is Professor Reg Chronotis."

"Uh. Hello," Todd says. The old man tilts his head, studying him. Todd feels himself flush a little.

"Forgive my impertinence," Reg says, not looking away from Todd, " but when you say _partner_ , do you mean to imply that your detective agency has undergone a restructuring, or that there has been a felicitous development in your personal life?" He looks back at Dirk, smiling warmly, and adds, "Either way, my dear chap, congratulations are in order."

"Uh," Dirk says, smiling back, "it's both, actually. Thank you, Reg."

Gary raises his eyebrows.

"My goodness," he says, "it would appear I've missed some developments myself."

"What _are_ you doing here, Gary?" Dirk says. "Not that we're not pleased to see you."

"Yes," Gary says, "I can see that Todd is positively transcendent with joy at my unexpected presence."

Todd snorts, folding his arms. Reg sits back down, rearranging his heavy, purple-trimmed robe around himself, and reaches for a glass of some ruby-coloured liquid on a small table at his side.

"Dirk," he says, "I would offer to pour you a drink, but I'm not as spry as I once was, and have become unseemly fond of my armchair lately. Please, help yourself and your partner to whatever you fancy from the sideboard."

He waves his hand at a collection of dusty bottles and a gleaming crystal decanter arranged on a cabinet against the wall, the various red and amber hues glowing in the light from the fire. Dirk shakes his head.

"No thanks," he says, "we're on a case."

"Are you sure?" Reg asks. He looks at Todd and adds, "There's some port just by your left elbow, young man, that has quite a kick."

"No thanks," Todd says awkwardly. He's trying to hold onto his annoyance, but Reg reminds him of his fourth grade math teacher, which is taking the wind out of his sails a little. Despite his wariness, he feels a sense of comfort in this room, everything dark-panelled wood, warm colours, and the smell of leather and old books.

"Todd is more of a coffee drinker," Gary says, and yeah, there's the annoyance. Right where he left it.

"I'd settle for an answer to our question," he says to Gary. "What are you doing here?"

"I am here," Gary says, "to visit my erstwhile thesis supervisor."

"Gary pops up to visit once every month or two," Reg says, wriggling comfortably in his armchair. "Dirk, on the other hand, I haven't seen for over two years. We might well ask what it is _you_ are doing here."

"But you were expecting us," Dirk says. "You said as much when we got here."

"Ah," Gary says. "So I did! Nice to know you're paying attention."

"I am a detective, you know," Dirk says.

"Well, I would very much like to know," Reg says, raising his eyebrows, "what it is you think you are going to _detect_ in the old, tumbledown rooms of an old, tumbledown university professor."

"Well," Dirk says, raising his eyebrows right back, "I think we both know that these rooms have yielded some _pretty_ interesting secrets in the past. So to speak. In varying degrees of past. The question is, what secrets are you two concealing today?"

"Well–" Gary begins, steepling his fingers, "I think we are _all_ aware–" and Todd snaps, throwing his hands up.

"Is anyone in this room planning on giving a straight answer? To anything? Ever again?"

They all turn to look at him, Reg curious, Dirk sheepish, Gary amused.

"My goodness," Reg says, "he is direct, isn't he?"

"Not usually," Dirk says.

Todd smacks him on the arm.

"Ow! What? I had to get locked in a room with you to get you to make a move!"

"That wasn't your idea," Todd says, "and you didn't make a move either!"

"Well of course _I_ didn't," Dirk says. "He didn't ask if _I_ was direct. _I_ once spent six months exiting my flat via a first floor window to avoid running into a neighbour who wanted me to join his pub quiz team."

"What happened after six months?" Reg asks curiously. "Did you join?"

"No," Dirk says, "he moved out. I would have joined, except he was only asking me because he thought I was psychic. And he always smelled of wet dog."

"You'll forgive me pointing it out, of course," Reg says, "but there's quite an interesting smell emanating from your jacket at this very moment."

"No, there isn't," Dirk says, zipping his jacket up and folding his arms.

"Yes," Gary says, wrinkling his nose, "I'm getting it as well. Kippers, I fancy. Or some variety of fish."

"The word kipper," Dirk says loftily, "is not in my dictionary."

"We're here because of the horoscope," Todd says, losing patience. "Today's horoscope."

"I'm afraid I can't recall Dirk's horoscope for today," Gary says.

"Seek a room full of history," Dirk says obligingly, "that's nobody's home."

He waves his hand at the room around them.

"Dirk," Reg says, "this is my home, dear fellow."

"Yes," Dirk says, "and it always has been, since it was built. But you don't exist, do you?"

"What?" Todd says. He looks at Reg. The old guy looks pretty solid.

"Oh, I see," Reg says. He looks at Gary. "Very clever."

"The stars speak through me," Gary says, modestly. "I am merely a mouthpiece."

"What do you mean, he doesn't exist?" Todd says. "I can see him."

"You misunderstand," Reg says, kindly. "I unquestionably exist–or, as unquestionably as anyone or anything else in a world of ontological uncertainty and confusion–but I don't have an identity. Or, at least, not one I can remember. I've been going by the name Reg Chronotis for some time now–two centuries and change–but Reg Chronotis is an invention. I haven't the faintest idea who I was before. Only that I... was." He smiles sadly at Dirk. "I suppose, technically speaking, I am nobody."

"Oh," Dirk says, unfolding his arms and looking awkward. "Well, it's semantics, isn't it? Wordplay. I didn't mean to imply..."

"Two centuries?" Todd says.

"It's quite alright, Dirk, my dear chap," Reg says, ignoring Todd. He looks over at Gary. "I don't suppose you can shed any light on why your messages from the stars have turned my humble rooms into King's Cross Station?"

Gary shrugs.

"Astrologists," Reg sighs, "honestly. Worse than meteorologists. They can show you the charts and augur storms or sunshine, but in the end you might as well look up at the sky yourself and take a guess. I suppose, since we're all just sitting around waiting for something to happen, I might as well put the kettle on."

He heaves himself to his feet, and is halfway to an inner door when Dirk's phone starts to buzz in his pocket. Reg stops and turns.

"I suppose you'd better get that."

*

Dirk ducks out of the room to answer the phone, and Reg goes to make tea, just in case they "have a few minutes to pass before the advent of violent misfortune".

Todd is left standing defiantly in the middle of the room, refusing to make eye contact with Gary, who is reclining comfortably in his armchair.

"You don't like me very much," Gary says, not sounding too cut up about it.

Todd looks at him.

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"You have insights that other people don't have," Todd says, "but you don't use them responsibly. You talk to Dirk like he's your friend, like you're happy to see him, but when he's in trouble you could care less. You knew when you wrote today's horoscope that me and Dirk were going to end up here, but instead of calling him and giving him some advice, like a friend would, you came up by yourself so you could beat us here for the impressive reveal. Dirk treats what he can do like a gift he gives to other people. You treat it like a cheap magic trick. That's why I don't like you."

"I see," Gary says, softly. "Well, phrased like that, I can certainly see myself as a villain."

"How would you phrase it?"

"I am man of many varied insights," Gary says, and Todd has an uncomfortable flash of déjà vu. "They rarely make complete sense to me as I receive them, but nonetheless I know how and when and to whom they must be delivered. Any attempt to circumvent these imperatives usually results in disaster."

He looks at Todd and Todd maintains eye contact, refusing to crack first.

"I had a sense," Gary says, "that the words I gave Dirk were referring to this room. But I also had a sense there was another meaning of which I was unaware. Was I wrong?"

"...no," Todd admits, grudgingly. "We found a receipt for a storage unit with Steve's stuff. We went there this afternoon."

"Did Dirk ever tell you about how Steve lost his car?" Gary asks, and Todd fights to keep his face impassive.

"No," he says, "not exactly. He told me you were involved."

"I cannot always help Dirk," Gary says, clearly choosing his words carefully, "even if I should wish to. I understand that this is difficult to grasp, and for you especially."

Todd bristles.

"Why me especially?"

"Because you are quite extravagantly in love with him," Gary says impatiently. "Come now, don't make me announce facts of which we are both perfectly aware."

Todd flushes and looks away, into the fire. All words have left his brain, so he stands in silence.

"Their room was broken into," Gary says, following Todd's gaze and staring at the flames. "Dirk and Steve's. Dirk was devastated. Mooning around town like his pet goldfish had died. Actually, it was much worse than when his pet goldfish died. Then he just bought a new fish, gave it a boring name, and was recovered within a week."

"Janice?" Todd asks, and Gary nods, his face brightening momentarily.

"Yes, Janice," he says. "That was it. Still alive, is she?"

"Uh.. yeah," Todd says, deciding to go for the concise answer.

"How nice," Gary says. "Anyway, after about a week of this behaviour, I was eating at a local Chinese restaurant with a friend of mine, when I received an odd message in my fortune cookie. It said, He who repays theft with theft builds his own cage. I had the immediate and unshakeable conviction that it was meant for Dirk, so I went to give it to him."

"But?" Todd prompts.

"Well, when I arrived at Dirk's old room, I found him outside, visibly upset, trying–very inexpertly–to break into Steve's car. One of Steve's friends had heard the men who broke into the room, and he told Dirk they had Scottish accents. So Dirk had decided he had to go to Scotland, and he couldn't afford the train fare. From what I gather, he decided to steal Steve's car because Steve had said some nasty things about a family heirloom of Dirk's and its relative value to Steve's CD player."

Without making a conscious decision to do so, Todd finds himself sinking into Reg's vacant chair. He is so tired of hearing about the laundry list of shitty things people have said and done to Dirk over the years. He is, despite everything Dirk has said to him this week, despite the beginning of something huge and wonderful and fragile between them, sick with guilt that he's contributed to that list. He is, above all else, filled with the overpowering urge to punch somebody on Dirk's behalf: maybe himself.

"I still had the fortune in my pocket," Gary says, "but he looked so miserable, and that Steve was such a dreadful piece of work, that I decided to damn it all to hell and help him nick the bloody car."

His polished tone slips slightly, and he grimaces at Todd apologetically. Todd swallows and nods.

"My cousin was a student at the time–an undergraduate, like Dirk. He also had a part time job working in the porter's lodge–we weren't a wealthy family, you understand. He created a distraction so that we could get the car out unseen, and I went with Dirk on his wild goose chase."

"What happened?" Todd ventures, when Gary falls silent, still staring into the fire.

"I don't think the details of the story are for me to tell," he says, slowly. "I'm sure Dirk will tell you, one day. But of course, he didn't find his cherished heirloom, or any clue to the burglar's identity, and when we came back, Steve was waiting for us. It turns out one of his ghastly friends had seen us driving off and threatened to report us. Dirk was forced to take part in his sordid little exam scheme, and I'm sure you know how that turned out."

"Yeah," Todd says. "I know what happened to Dirk. What about you?"

"Me?" Gary shrugs. "When Dirk was arrested and sent down, Steve realised that he had no incentive to keep his mouth shut anymore, so he reported us. Of course, he was hard pressed to explain why he hadn't reported it at the time, and Bill–my cousin–had made sure the cameras didn't catch us, so his case was thin enough that Reg managed to persuade him not to press criminal charges."

"Reg?" Todd looks at the door, through which he can hear Reg messing around with spoons and cups.

"Yes," Gary says, "Reg was always quite fond of Dirk."

"Huh," Todd says.

"Dirk has more people in his corner than he realises," Gary says, interpreting Todd's _huh_ with scary accuracy. "Reg gave me the money to bail Dirk out of prison as well. He also tried, at my request, to help my cousin, but poor Bill got sent down anyway. Reg did manage to keep him his job in the porter's lodge, though, which I suppose was better than nothing."

"So... nothing happened to you?"

"I escaped with a slap on the wrist and was allowed to finish my PhD," Gary says, ruefully. "I tried to keep an eye on Dirk while he was in London, but I didn't go against my instincts again. We all play our parts, and there is only so much any of us can do. We cannot fix everything, however much we might wish it."

"I get it," Todd says, rubbing his temple. "The will of the universe."

"All one can do," Gary says, "is hope for the best."

"Their room wasn't broken into," Todd says. He looks up at Gary, who cocks his head inquiringly. "It was Steve. He staged a break-in and sold the stuff. Or most of it anyway. We found Dirk's... family heirloom in his storage unit today."

"Well," Gary says mildly. "What a complete and utter arsehole."

This startles a laugh out of Todd before he can help it, and he grins at his own feet.

"Yeah," he says. "I can't argue with that."

"Sorry that took so long," Reg says, bustling in with a wheeled tea tray. Todd jumps to his feet and goes over to help. "Not as young as I once was, you know. Or so I assume."

"That's alright," Gary says, watching as Todd pulls up a couple of chairs for him and Dirk. "We had a nice chat."

"Is that so?" Reg says mildly, looking between the two of them.

"Yeah," Todd says, grudgingly. "It was fine."

"Good," Reg says, "that's wonderful. I'm sure Dirk will be–ah, Dirk! Do we have time for a cup of tea before the next improbable inconvenience?"

Dirk looks significantly more stressed than when he left the room, and Todd moves towards him instinctively.

"Dirk? You okay?"

"Yes," Dirk says, distractedly. "Fine. And tea would be lovely, Reg. That was Sergeant Gilks."

"What did she want?" Todd asks.

"Apparently Steve made bail," Dirk says. "They told him not to leave London, but he's given them the slip."

"You think he's looking for us?" Todd asks.

"I don't know," Dirk says, chewing his lip as he sits down and picks up a tea cup. "There is something else, though. They've had a delivery to the station."

"Same delivery guy?" Todd says.

"Yes, I think so," Dirk says. "The desk sergeant who signed for it hadn't been warned to look out for suspicious delivery men, so she was a little vague with her description. It was addressed to Sergeant Gilks."

"What is it?" Gary asks, leaning back in his armchair and watching them like a favourite soap opera.

"An old VHS tape," Dirk says. "They're looking for something to play it on. Apparently the Met is all digital these days."

"Intriguing as this news is," Reg says, "it wasn't strictly necessary for you to be in my rooms to receive it. There must be a reason you've been brought here."

Everyone looks at Gary.

"Please," he says, speaking to the cup of tea in his hands, "I do so loathe to repeat myself. I am–"

"Just a mouthpiece," Todd finishes. "Right. So where does that leave us?"

"Right now," Dirk says, "I just feel like finishing my tea."

Todd shrugs.

"Then I guess that's what we'll do."

Dirk raises his teacup to his lips just as there's a loud knock on the door. He pauses, and he and Todd look at each other for a long moment.

"I got the phone," Dirk says. "It's your turn."

"Not to worry," Reg says, "it's just my PhD student. Now, what was her name... Smith! That's it. It's simply Miss Smith. Come in!" he calls.

The door creaks open, and Todd wonders why he's even surprised at who walks through it.

"Cathy!" Dirk says.

"Dirk!" Cathy is carrying a pile of books, red-cheeked and windswept, and apparently genuinely surprised to see them. Again. "Hullo, Todd."

"Hi," Todd says.

"You are all acquainted?" Reg asks, peering around at them all. "How lovely. No need for introductions. I never do very well at those anyway."

Cathy dumps her books on the sideboard, struggles out of her coat, and immediately pours herself a glass of port.

"What's going on?" she asks, putting the bottle back and collapsing into a chair next to Dirk.

"We're not sure yet," Dirk tells her.

"We are waiting," Gary says grandly, "for the universe to reveal itself to us."

"Sounds like it might take a while," Cathy observes, sipping her port. "I have plans later, but you'll have to let me know how it goes."

"What are your plans?" Dirk asks. "Maybe it's you we were supposed to meet here."

"I don't know what that means," Cathy says, "but I'm going to open mic night in a local pub. I go most Tuesdays, it's a laugh."

"I thought you lived in London?" Todd says.

"I mostly study from London," she says, "but I come to Cambridge two days a week to use the library and meet Reg." She winks at Reg, who chuckles comfortably.

"Always nice to have you about the place, Miss, er. Miss Smith."

"Who usually goes to this open mic night?" Todd asks.

"Students, mostly. Postgrads. A few locals, people who work in the area. Steve showed up once. " She wrinkles her nose. "I got him chucked out, though."

"I have a feeling," Dirk says, looking at Todd, "he might try his luck again tonight."

Cathy sits up straighter.

"I thought he was in prison?"

"He made bail today," Dirk says. "He might not come here, of course. But he did think you and Dominique were involved with taking the diamond, so if he can't find us, he might come looking for you."

"Do you know," Reg says, "I haven't the faintest idea what's going on. It's really quite entertaining."

They all jump at another knock on the door.

"Good heavens," Reg says. "I haven't had this many visitors since Churchill was Prime Minister." He raises his voice slightly and calls, "Come in, whoever you might be!"

The door creaks open, and Phantom edges hesitantly through.

"Hi," he says, eyeing Todd warily.

"Oh, for Christ sake," Todd says, putting his head in his hands.

"Phantom!" Dirk says. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," Phantom says, still keeping a healthy distance from Todd, who has lifted his head from his hands and is now glaring at him, "I thought you were probably trying to find the diamond, and I wanted to help."

"How did you know we were here?" Todd says.

"I follow Dirk on instagram," Phantom says uncertainly.

"Oh," Cathy says, "me too!"

Todd turns to Dirk very slowly. Dirk carefully examines the rim of his teacup.

"Dirk," Todd says.

"Hmm?" Dirk replies, still giving off the air of a man presently very occupied with investigating a small, floral-patterned china cup.

"Have you been posting pictures of us on instagram this entire time?"

"Not the _entire_ time," Dirk says.

Todd closes his eyes and takes a deep, cleansing breath. It doesn't help.

"Let me see," he says, holding his hand out. Dirk sulkily takes his phone out of his pocket, opens the app, and passes it over to Todd.

If he wasn't torn between hysterical laughter and despair, Todd thinks, he would be kind of touched. There are a lot of pictures of the two of them in here–by the canal, on the Tube, in the lobby of their hotel. In most of them Dirk is smiling at the camera while Todd frowns at something in the background. There are a few of Todd by himself, mostly eating or checking his own phone. Apart from the one of them in their almost matching jackets, he doesn't remember any of these being taken. The rest of them are shots of buildings, small dogs, and milkshakes. Dirk actually has a pretty good eye for this, even if he does slap gaudy filters over everything.

He's still mad at Dirk–he _is_ –and he's going to yell at him any minute for posting a bunch of pictures of him without his permission, while simultaneously advertising their location to any unhinged murderers and arsonists who might hang out on social media. But. There's something about seeing his own face carefully captured from so many different angles: there's something about seeing from the outside how it feels to be next to Dirk, that giant, yawning, terrifying sense of _rightness_ , written in the slope of his shoulders, the lines that crinkle at the corners of his eyes. He's bowled over by it suddenly, and he grips the phone tighter, keeps scrolling through the photos so he won't have to look up.

He opens one of the pictures. It's him on the Tube, holding onto a pole and looking, irritated, off to the side. The fluorescent light of the tube and the weird, oversaturated filter Dirk used give his face an unhealthy tinge, make his eyes look darker. Dirk has captioned it: _#todd #londonunderground #home._

Todd looks up. Dirk is looking at him, equal parts sheepish and defiant. Todd is suddenly, inconveniently overwhelmed with how much he loves this complete idiot. His skin is _tingling_ with it. He flounders for something to say.

"You know," he hears himself say, "that people have been following us and trying to kill us since we got here?"

"I know," Dirk says, "and it's just now occurring to me that perhaps all those pictures weren't the best idea. But I turned my location off!"

"Dirk," Todd tries not to laugh, because he's there's no reason for everyone in this room to know how far beyond help or sanity he is, "there's a picture of you next to a sign for Shoreditch High Street underground station. And a picture of us in the courtyard that says _hashtag St.Cedd's_."

"Well," Dirk says, going pink, "I didn't use my real name!"

Todd looks back at the screen.

"HolisticOptimistic1984," he reads. "That's... the worst pseudonym ever. That's the screenhandle equivalent of a terrible fake moustache."

"They're really quite good," Cathy says, peering over Todd's shoulder. "You use too many filters, though."

"I like them," Dirk objects.

"No, she's right," Phantom says, pressing up to look over Todd's other shoulder. "Less is more. See, this one of Gary's bird–"

"Could we... could we focus?" Todd says, covering the screen and trying to somehow glare over both his shoulders at once.

Cathy and Phantom back away, murmuring apologies. Gary snorts with laughter. Reg looks placidly amused, and Dirk is still blushing. Todd takes a moment to regroup.

"We could use this to our advantage," he says, opening Dirk's meagre list of followers and scrolling through the names.

"You think whoever has been following us is... following me?" Dirk says, leaning over to look at what Todd is doing.

"Well," Todd says, "it's possible. Maybe we should put out some bait and see if they take it."

"Right," Dirk says, nodding seriously. "Bait, fantastic. What do you mean by that exactly?"

Todd rolls his eyes and hands Dirk his phone back.

"Come on," he says. "Let's go to open mic night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at the [gorgeous art](http://madeofplasma.tumblr.com/post/166682541621/fanarts-i-made-for-the-awesome-brotzly-fic-i-will) madeofplasma created for this chapter! If you were wondering what Dirk's instagram looks like, wonder no more!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You okay?" Todd says, sounding amused.  
> "Do you know," Dirk says, because there's no point being coy this late in the day, "I really quite fancy you?"  
> "Well," Todd says, "if that means what I think it means, then good."
> 
> *
> 
> In which Dirk struggles to coordinate his ragtag bunch of stray investigative assistants, and Todd is very distracting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly at the end, lads! Thanks for sticking with me. This is the first update I've posted since season 2 started, and I'm not planning on changing the story to acknowledge new canon developments, so I'd like to acknowledge that this is now officially AU. That being said, I couldn't resist chucking in a reference to Todd's canonically awful English accent. 
> 
> I would acknowledge Dirk's Irish accent, but honestly... I'm still processing. 
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to all the wonderful souls on tumblr who are allowing us poor Europeans to watch the new episodes when they come out. (Remember, we're on the honours system - watch it on Netflix when it comes out, and support the show where you can!)

Dirk Gently has been in some pretty unpleasant places in his life. He's lived in apartments whose square footage was roughly equivalent to that of a generously sized bandana. Most of his dwellings, size out of the equation altogether, were less than salubrious even before he littered them with pizza boxes and coffee mugs. And of course there was that whole unpleasant stint (and a second, equally unpleasant stint) with the CIA. Not to mention the occupational hazards of being a holistic detective, which have landed him in some pretty dangerous and offensive settings as recently as this week.  He reminds himself of this so that he might gain some perspective on the relative unpleasantness of standing outside a pub in Cambridge, at 7 o'clock on a November evening, freezing his bloody arse off.

"Can't we go inside?" he asks, in a level tone that in no way resembles a whine. "I'm _cold_."

"No," Sergeant Gilks says patiently, "we cannot go in, Gently. Not until we're all clear on what I will for the moment charitably term your _plan_."

Dirk hops from foot to foot. Phantom is shivering too, but Todd and Cathy look totally unconcerned by the sub-Arctic conditions.

"Okay," Todd says, "So I'll go onstage with Cathy to perform, Dirk will watch from the crowd, and Phantom will stay by the back door. Right?"

"Right," Gilks says. "Matthews and I will keep an eye on the carpark and the main road from the bus station. If your friend Steve or the wayward postman show up, we'll see them coming. Presumably Gently has no other local enemies he wants to inform us of at this juncture, but keep your eyes peeled just in case."

 "Got it," Dirk said, giving her a somewhat stiff thumbs-up, since his hands are currently vaguely hand-shaped blocks of ice. "Consider it got."

Matthews gives him a thumbs-up back, and Dirk turns to go inside.

"Gently," Gilks says, and Dirk huffs impatiently, turning back to her with his hands tucked under his armpits. "How do you know this bloke will show up?"

"Look," Dirk says, "in my experience, angry and homicidal people who are looking for me generally manage to find me even _without_ help from social media. I've practically left him a trail of breadcrumbs to this pub, he'll show up. And if he doesn't, Steve will. Either way, I'm sure you'll be able to slap some cuffs on someone." 

"Right," Gilks says, doubtfully. "Well, I despair even as I say this, but keep your wits about you. And failing that–" she nods at Todd, "stick close to him."

Dirk smiles at her.

"Gilks," he says, "You've just summed up my personal philosophy. Come on, Todd. Let's go and dangle you as bait."

Todd sighs, but moves to the door and holds it open for Dirk to go inside.

 

*

 

 

"Stay still," Dirk says, frowning. He steps back, trying to get more of Todd in the shot without falling off the edge of the stage. There's nobody else in the warm, softly-lit pub except the bartender, who is mostly ignoring their impromptu photoshoot.

"I _am_ staying still," Todd says, his hands posed over the guitar strings. The spotlight is hitting him in rather a flattering way, picking out his cheekbones. He glances up at Dirk, clearly trying to move his eyes without moving the rest of his face, and says,

"Did you take it?"

Dirk coughs, fumbling with his phone as he remembers the point of the exercise.

"Patience, Todd," he says, hoping his red cheeks aren't _very_ noticeable in the dim light. Todd's mouth curves up at one corner, but he holds still as Dirk takes the picture.

"There," Dirk says, typing out a hasty caption and posting the image. "That should do it, I imagine."

He looks up, and forgets whatever else he was about to say in the face of his extremely attractive boyfriend, looking casually rakish with his hair artfully mussed and his arms draped over a battered acoustic guitar.

"Um," Dirk says. Todd raises his eyebrows.

"...hmm," Dirk says, his eyes lighting on Todd's hands. Todd straightens a little, flexing his fingers on the strings. Dirk swallows, a strange and involuntary response. Being in love with Todd has already begun to feel quite natural, as if he should have known all along. The fondness, the comfort, the giddy high of reciprocated affection: it's all tangled up with the feelings he's had for Todd from the beginning.

It's proving much more difficult to become accustomed to the novel sensation of really quite fancying someone.

"You okay?" Todd says, sounding amused.

"Do you know," Dirk says, because there's no point being coy this late in the day, "I really quite fancy you?"

"Well," Todd says, "if that means what I think it means, then good."

"Just now," Dirk says, "it seems to mean I can't stop staring at your hands."

"I noticed that," Todd says. Dirk looks up at his face again, and only when he sees the expression of affection there does he realise that he was already expecting it. How marvellous. How absolutely, recklessly lovely. He smiles, standing just outside the edge of Todd's spotlight, and lets himself bask.

"You too," Todd says, suddenly. "I mean... I look at you too. You're–" he looks briefly panicked, "–handsome."

Dirk tries valiantly not to laugh. He's actually quite touched. No one, in a long history of acquaintances old and new lavishly applying adjectives to his person, has ever to his knowledge described him as _handsome_ , and it couldn't possibly mean more coming from anyone else. But it is nevertheless quite funny to see Todd squirming, mortified, at his own word choice.

" _Wow_ ," he says, seriously. "You're worse at flirting than I am. It's a good thing you've already got me."

Todd rolls his eyes and pretends to fiddle with the tuning pegs on his perfectly tuned guitar.

"Yeah," he mutters, "lucky me."

Dirk moves into the pool of light and kisses Todd's gold-lit hair. It's soft and warm, like Todd's been sitting in the sun.

"I'm going to go secure the perimeter," he says, stepping back. "Spot checks. You just sit here, and look like a musician."

He manages to step down from the stage without tripping over his own feet too badly, and finds the door of the pub on his second try. As he steps outside, he hears Todd say again, with a touch of bemusement in his voice,

"Lucky me."

 

*

Cathy and Gilks are talking when Dirk approaches them, already regretting stepping into the cold again. As he draws near they burst into simultaneous laughter, but Cathy shushes Gilks when she notices Dirk's approach.

"Were you laughing at me?" he says, trying his best to sound pathetically wounded by this turn of events. The truth is, Cathy laughing at him has never bothered him any more than Todd laughing at him. Cathy laughs at everyone, and it's usually a mark of affection as much as anything else. The sight of _Gilks_ laughing is so bizarre that he wouldn't even know how to be offended by it.

"No," Cathy says, grinning at him unconvincingly, "we weren't actually. I was laughing because I heard your friend Phantom clocked Steve with an antique vase."

"Oh yes," Dirk says, smiling fondly at the memory. "Definitely one of the highlights of my week so far."

"What was the other?" Cathy says, nudging him in the ribs. Dirk feels his face turn luminous red.

"Told you," Cathy says to Gilks, who snorts.

"I've finished posting the picture of Todd," Dirk says, talking loudly over them, "so you'd better come in and decide what songs you'll be playing."

He holds the door open for her, waving her inside.

"Right," Cathy says, moving towards the door. She hesitates, glancing between him and Gilks. "Are you sure about all this, Dirk?"

"Sure is a fairytale," Dirk says. "The only real certainty is death. No need to be _gloomy_ about it. Come inside and see how dashing Todd looks with your guitar."

"Good Lord," Cathy says, staring at him. "You're much more dark and depressing than you initially appear, do you know that?"

"I don't know why people keep saying that to me," Dirk says, frowning. "Just now I'm actually in an exceptionally good mood."

"Well," Cathy says, "if this is what romance looks like on you, then I suppose I'm happy for you."

"Gently, your budding romance aside," Gilks says, apparently returned to classic grouchy form by Dirk's good mood, "remember–"

"Yes, yes," Dirk says. "Don't worry, Gilks, I have been listening. Stay vigilant, stay in touch, don't run off on my own."

"And try," she says patiently, "not to get too distracted by your boyfriend playing guitar."

"Noted," Dirk says, and follows Cathy back inside.

Cathy goes to join Todd on the stage, and Dirk feels Phantom come to stand next to him.

"Why is he the one up there?" Phantom says. "I can play guitar. Probably better than him."

Dirk sighs.

"You said you didn't want to be the bait."

"I just don't trust that guy," Phantom says, sulkily.

"Well," Dirk says, with what he feels is commendable patience, "I do. And frankly, I'm a bit sick of having to talk the two of you into working together."

Up on the stage, Todd picks out the beginning of an unfamiliar melody on Cathy's guitar. Cathy laughs, and Phantom snorts.

"What?" Dirk says, looking between him and the stage.

"London Calling," Phantom says. "You might want to tell your boyfriend Cambridge isn't in London."

"It's thematically relevant," Dirk says primly.

Phantom rolls his eyes and stomps off to the bar. When Dirk looks back at the stage, Todd grins at him.

"Do you have a pick?" Todd asks, and Cathy frowns, patting her pockets.

"I've definitely got one somewhere," she says. "Try the case."

"Oh!" Dirk says, reaching into his pocket. "I've got something for this!"

He bounds up to edge of the stage and pulls out the black ring box with the Soup and Fish guitar pick that he's been carrying around for nearly a week.

Cathy gasps.

"Are you going to _propose_?"

"What?" Dirk flushes a ludicrous shade of red. Todd makes a choking noise. "No! I just–" He opens the box and takes out the guitar pick, waving it in Cathy's face. "I have a... thing."

"That's one of ours," Phantoms says, returning with a beer in his hand.

"Yes," Dirk says, his face still burning. "We thought you or Steve had sent it to us, but now it appears we can't even trust our postmen."

He passes the pick to Todd, who is looking a little pink himself.

"Thanks," Todd mutters, fumbling the pick and nearly dropping it.

"Why did you bring it?" Phantom asks.

"Hunch," Dirk and Todd say at the same time. Todd is laughing, and looks slightly less embarrassed.

"Sorry," Cathy says, not sounding very sorry. "I saw the ring box and got overexcited."

"If I was going to propose, I like to think I'd have a little more ceremony," Dirk says, pocketing the box again. "Maybe I'd release doves–although that sounds a little mean."

"Could we focus?" Todd says, avoiding Dirk's eyes. His ears are still pink.

Cathy winks at Dirk and says, "Right you are, Brotzman. Our adoring and possibly homicidal audience will be here before we know it."

 

 *

 

Once Todd and Cathy are rehearsing, and Phantom has moodily taken up his station at the back door, Dirk wanders over to lean on the bar. He wonders if, six years after the Regent's Canal Incident, he could throw caution to the wind and have a couple of pints. Probably not what Gilks meant by keeping his wits about him. After a couple of minutes he hears Todd's footsteps approach behind him.

"Hey," Todd says, leaning on the bar next to him. "Come here often?"

"No," Dirk says, grinning and looking straight ahead. "Just tonight. My boyfriend's in the band."

"That would be more impressive if we weren't at an open mic night," he says, and Dirk turns to smile at him.

"I'm still impressed."

Todd ducks his head, grinning, and says,

"So give me a crash course on British beer. What's a... bitter?"

"Ah," Dirk says, "well, bitter is a type of beer that was invented by Sir Isaac Newton, and re-popularised in the 80s by David Bowie. It's made almost entirely from fermented lemons, picked from the lemon trees of Citron Upon Avon. The lemons are deposited into a huge barrel, and stepped on by monks–"

"Oh my _god_ ," Todd says, finally breaking into laughter, "I seriously, honest to god hate you."

"Hush, Todd," Dirk admonishes, "I'm trying to educate you on my culture, here."

"What can I get you, gents?" the bartender asks.

"Two pints of bitter please, _mate_ ," Todd says, and Dirk snorts.

The bartender rolls his eyes, as well he might, and goes to pour their drinks.

"Maybe next time we come to visit, we could do more of this," Todd says, turning his head to look at Dirk, still leaning on his elbows. "You know, less kidnapping, more tourism."

"I'd like that," Dirk says. "England is–well, it was as much of a home as I ever had, for a long time, the unequivocal dreadfulness of my flat notwithstanding. Maybe drop the accent, though."

Todd smiles faintly, but then looks serious, his gaze turning inward. Dirk drums his fingers on the bar and waits.

"I'd be okay with it, if you wanted to stay here," Todd says abruptly. "Just... so you know."

Dirk reminds himself very sternly that he and Todd have a history of misunderstanding each other, that Todd has told him more than once that he wants him around, that this most likely is not what it sounds like, however serious Todd looks.

"You... think I should stay in England?" he says, carefully.

Todd's eyes widen and he straightens up, away from the bar, waving his hands like he can erase the words hanging between them.

"No," he says, "no I didn't mean–God, how do I keep doing this? I meant _we_ could stay. I would stay with you, if you wanted."

"You would do that?" Dirk whispers.

"Well, yeah," Todd says, rubbing the back of his neck. "For a while, at least. This is your home, and..." he clears his throat. "And... you're mine."

Dirk feels his entire world shift and rearrange at these words, like a slowly assembling picture on an old television set. For a second he has the peculiar sensation that he is all versions of himself at once: Svlad Cjelli, a lonely boy with scuffed knees swinging his schoolbag and kicking through piles of leaves; Project Icarus, whose walls were blank and whose name was a loaded gun; Dirk Cjelli, the half-formed pencil sketch of the man he's been striving to become. And finally, blessedly, Dirk Gently, standing in front of the person he loves most in the world, being called what no one has ever called him before: _home_.

He shoves his hand in his pocket and fumbles out the guitar pick ring box, stepping forward and pressing it into Todd's hand. His chest hurts, but he manages to say, in something approaching his usual tone,

"It's empty, I know it is–but would you hold onto this for me?" Todd closes his fingers around it, eyes wide, and Dirk leans forward and kisses him carefully. He closes his hands around Todd's, his breathing shaky, and Todd nods, his forehead brushing Dirk's.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "I'll look after it."

 

*

 

Dirk spends the next hour acutely, incandescently aware of Todd's presence, glancing over probably an embarrassing amount at Todd, slumped in his chair, sipping beer and very often looking right back at him.

Todd and Cathy are due to go on third, so they sit through the first two acts–a girl with a ukulele singing bittersweet folk songs, and an unpleasant slam poet–with Dirk torn between staring at Todd and watching the door. He's not sure if he's expecting Steve or his other mysterious nemesis, but underneath his Todd-related giddiness he's stretched wire-taut. When the poet takes an ironically dramatic bow and steps down, Todd and Cathy stand up and move towards the stage. Todd pauses on his way and leans down to kiss Dirk on the cheek, and Dirk's brain shorts out temporarily. Todd smirks a little at his expression, but he honestly doesn't have the makings of an exasperated eyeroll in him right now and just beams soppily back at him. He fingers his mother's locket in his jacket, and watches as Todd's hand touches something small and square in his own pocket. He jumps when a voice says in his ear,

"Well, I can't say that he's _dashing_ exactly, not in those tattered jeans, but I suppose he has a certain devil-may-care charm."

Dirk does his best to pretend that he heard Gary's approach and simply opted not to acknowledge him straight away, keeping his eyes fixed on Todd as he answers,

"He's plenty dashing, thanks, and just because he doesn't accessorise with a bird of prey doesn't mean he has no sense of style."

"I suppose he has personal attributes which you find more... _satisfactory_."

Dirk rolls his eyes.

"If you're obliquely enquiring about my boyfriend's arse, I can tell you it's so far past satisfactory as to be bordering on the otherworldly, thank you very much."

"Oh, my," a second voice says mildly, and Dirk's head whips around to see Reg sitting next to Gary at the table, a glass of sherry in his hand and a faux-scandalised expression on his face.

"Reg," Dirk says, kicking a smirking Gary as hard as he can in the shin from his current position. "Good of you to come. I–that is to say, I didn't–"

"Quite all right, Dirk my boy," Reg says, taking a sip of sherry. "I expect I'll have forgotten this whole conversation quite soon. I imagine this isn't the first occasion my spotty memory has been a blessing in disguise."

Todd strums his guitar gently on stage–a much nicer way to get people's attention than that horrible feedback noise–and they all turn back to look. Cathy steps up to the mic, smiling. Todd is sitting behind her on a stool, hands poised on the guitar. Dirk checks his phone again, his knee jiggling restlessly.

"Hi, everyone," Cathy says, and winks when a few people cheer. "I'm back, and I've brought a friend. He's come all the way from Seattle, so don't make fun of his outfit."

Gary coughs into his drink and Dirk determinedly doesn't look around. Todd is rolling his eyes and grinning.

Todd and Cathy launch into a song that sounds vaguely familiar to Dirk. Cathy is mostly doing the singing, although every now and then Todd's voice joins hers. Dirk is so enraptured that he almost jumps out of his skin– _again—_ when Gary prods him in the ribs.

"Ow," he whispers out of the corner of his mouth. "What?"

"Dirk," Gary says, his voice devoid of its usual rich plumminess. "Bill is here. And he's staring at your fellow."

Dirk turns to look at him, baffled, and manages to say, "Who on earth is–" before he makes eye contact with their strange, morose delivery man, standing at the bar and staring between him and Todd in shock.

"It's _him_ ," Dirk hisses, but at that moment his phone vibrates in his pocket, and he fumbles it out, muttering, "Not now, not now–bugger! Steve is here."

"Ah," Gary says. "He is presumably of bigger concern than Bill at the moment."

"Who is _Bill_?" Dirk asks, at a loss. "Never mind, he's getting away!"

He stands up and prepares to chase after "Bill", the ersatz postman and erstwhile arsonist, but Bill is already at the front door, and just as Dirk starts after him he hears Phantom cry, "Dirk!" from the back of the pub.

"Shit," he mutters, frozen in indecision.

He hears Gilks' voice yelling outside, but she sounds more annoyed than distressed, so after another second of dithering, he starts towards the back of the pub, and Phantom. Behind him, he hears the music on the stage cut off abruptly and the muttering of the crowd rise to a confused fever pitch as he ducks into the dim corridor. Phantom and Steve are wrestling awkwardly, and Dirk sees a flash of metal in the light from the small window.

He hears Todd yell his name just as Steve's gun goes off.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh!" Dirk sits bolt upright, staring at Todd. "Of course! Todd, you're brilliant!"
> 
> "Thanks," Todd says, taking one of the shortbread cookies that Reg left out. "Are you going to tell me why, or are we going to have to listen to a ten minute monologue about the universe first?"
> 
> "I knew you'd be the world's best partner," Dirk says, grinning at him. "The universe delivered you to me, wrapped in a grimy flannel bow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh jeez, oh jeez. Here we are, at the end! Thank you so very much to anyone who has stuck with me throughout this incredibly long and meandering journey. It's been over a year since I started this story, and I never planned to let it go on this long. In the last year I have moved to a different country, started a new job, lost my grandmother, broken my leg, battled against my own dickhead of a brain, and had multiple and unpleasant trips to the dentist. This story has been neglected and forgotten about multiple times, but incredibly, people kept leaving nice, encouraging comments. People kept wishing me well and wondering how I was. It has been such a huge help to me, I don't even know how to tell you. I love this fandom, I love everyone who has ever commented on this story or sent me a lovely message, and I love Dirk and Todd and their epic, emotionally constipated romance. Extra special thanks to Helen, Kate and inky, who read over this chapter for me and provided useful advice and cheerleading. Now please excuse me while I lie, exhausted on the floor and eat an entire jar of peanut butter. I hope you guys enjoy.
> 
> (Note: Apparently it is possible, albeit extremely difficult, to bring a fish on an aeroplane. So just ignore the unrealistic lack of bureaucracy and assume they got a permit online or something. Dirk needs his buddy Janice!)

It's a cliché, but the sound of the gunshot in the tiny hallway seems to slow everything down for a moment. Todd  lives what feels like a month and has about six distinct panic attacks between the ringing retort of the gun and dropping to his knees at Dirk's side. His legs are weak and aching, as if he's run a great distance. 

"Dirk," he says, scrabbling uselessly at Dirk's shoulders, turning him roughly to face him. "Dirk, Dirk–"

Dirk turns to look at him, eyes wide and face pale, and says, "I think he's badly hurt! We need to call an ambulance." 

Todd stares at him, fingers digging into his arms, and slowly it filters through his brain that Dirk is fine, Dirk hasn't been shot. He looks down, head swimming, and sees Phantom, lying on the sticky red carpet, clutching his side and–Jesus, has he been yelling like that this whole time?

There's blood seeping into the carpet at his and Dirk's knees.

"Todd," Dirk says urgently. "Ambulance! Call 999!"

"Right," Todd says, prying his stiff fingers from Dirk's arms. He fumbles in his pocket and pulls his phone out, his heart beating insistently in his ears as he dials.

"It's okay, Phantom," Dirk is saying, as Todd distractedly tells the voice on the other end of the line what happened. He tries to pay attention to what the operator is saying, but he can’t stop looking at Dirk’s hand shaking slightly on Phantom’s shoulder. "You're going to be fine. Help is on the way, alright?"

Todd hangs up, trying to push down the heady swell of relief. He doesn't want Dirk to see it on his face, doesn't want him to know just how selfish he can be. He puts his hand on Dirk's arm. 

"They'll be here in a few minutes," he says. "We're supposed to keep him awake, and keep pressure on the wound."

"You hear that, Phantom?" Dirk says, in a loud, cheery voice. Todd pulls off the grey sweatshirt he's wearing over a White Stripes t-shirt and hands it to him. Dirk balls it up and presses it to Phantom's side, still talking to him like he's a child in a dentist's waiting room. "The ambulance will be here any minute, and everything will be fine. Just try and stay awake for a bit, okay?"

As his mental faculties slowly return, Todd becomes aware they're not the only people in the hallway. Behind him, he can hear Constable Matthews saying loudly, 

"Stay back, please–no crowding! Back inside, that's it..."

He raises his head, and sees, with a shock of cold fury, Steve Mander, pressed against the wall, his gun dangling from his hand, his mouth hanging open as he stares down at Phantom. He raises his eyes to meet Todd's and something clicks into place–he gasps, and looks towards the back door.

"Don't even  _ think  _ about it," Todd growls, standing up and lunging for him. 

"Todd!" Dirk yells, "let him go! It doesn't matter!"

Todd lurches to a halt, breathing hard, as Steve points the gun at him.

"Listen to your boyfriend," he says, his voice wavering under his veneer of bravado. "I don't want to have to deal with his snivelling if I shoot you."

Todd looks at him, and then at the gun, and then at Phantom on the floor. Now that he's looking for it, he can see the fear in Steve's eyes. Todd knows that look. He's worn it enough himself, in the past. It's the look of a guy who's in over his head.

"You won't shoot me," he says. "It's bad enough you shot Phantom, you want to double your sentence? With a cop as a witness?"

Steve swallows, his finger tightening on the trigger. The rest of the hallway is silent, apart from Phantom's whimpers.

"Steve," Todd says, keeping his voice even, "drop the gun. It's your only option."

Todd keeps eye contact as Steve lowers the gun slowly to the ground, and as he straightens back up, his hands shaking. 

"Good," Todd says, taking a step towards him with his hands raised. "You did the right thing."

Then, for good measure, he punches Steve as hard as he can in the jaw.

Steve yells as if he's the one who just got shot, falling back against the wall, clutching his jaw.

"That's enough," Matthews yells, his hand landing on Todd's shoulder and pulling him back. "Step away!"

Todd steps back, hands in the air.

"I'm done," he says. He looks at Steve, who is seething, still cradling his own face. "Don't ever come near Dirk again," he says. "Do we understand each other?"

"Yeah," Steve says, his voice raspy. "Understood."

"Good," Todd says. He looks back at Matthews, who looks considerably less cheerful than usual. "Okay,  _ now  _ I'm done."

He turns to look at Dirk, who is gaping at him from the floor. He's saved from having to think of something to say by the approaching sound of sirens.

 

*

 

"Do you think we should go with him?" Dirk asks, watching as they load Phantom into the back of the ambulance. There's blood on his hands, and his jeans.

"His next of kin have been notified," Matthews says, "they're on their way down from York now. The paramedics said he should be fine–it didn't hit anything important, and they've got the bleeding under control."

"We can go see him tomorrow," Todd says, taking Dirk's hand. "Let's go and get you cleaned up."

Dirk looks down at his hand, apparently startled to find it covered in blood. 

"Oh," he says, faintly. "Oh, Todd, your jumper..."

"I don't care about that," Todd says, his fingers tightening around Dirk's. "Come on."

He leads Dirk to the bathroom and watches as he washes his hands, and rubs at his jeans ineffectively with wet toilet paper. He can’t tell what Dirk is thinking from his face, which is a first.

"You okay?" he says. "I know he's a friend of yours, kind of."

Dirk shrugs, his face almost the same colour as his off-white shirt in the fluorescent light. He finishes drying his hands and hangs the towel up carefully on the rack.

"I wouldn't say  _ friend, _ exactly, but I'm sorry he was hurt. He's not a bad type, really. Just lonely and impressionable."

He looks up at Todd, his mouth open to keep talking, and then stops, his eyes narrowing.

"Are  _ you  _ okay?"

"Yeah," Todd says. He moves forward, and Dirk meets him halfway, raising his arms to wrap around Todd's shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Dirk turns his face into Todd's hair. Todd feels his stomach start to unknot, the gallop of his pulse and his thoughts slowing down to a manageable pace. He takes a second to marvel at the fact that three days ago, they didn't  _ do _ this. Everything seems much clearer now.

"Todd," Dirk says, his hands resting on Todd's back, "was there a second there when you were a bit... worried for me?"

"Yeah," Todd says, into Dirk's neck. "Just a second."

"I'm fine," Dirk says.

"Yeah," Todd says, holding on tighter. "Me too."

 

*

 

"Why did you punch Steve in the face?" Dirk asks, holding the door open for Todd as they step out of the bathroom. Todd, since he sacrificed his sweatshirt to Phantom's gunshot wound, is wearing Dirk's jacket, which kind of seems to be a theme for the week.

"Why do you think?" he says, glancing back at Dirk. The pub is empty now, apart from a solitary bartender, clearing tables. Todd can hear Gilks' voice from outside the front door.

"Because he shot Phantom?"

"No," Todd says, "although that was part of it. Mostly I hit the guy because he stole your mom's locket. I hit him because he got you kicked out of college, and arrested, so he could make some pocket money. I hit him because it's his fault you got knocked unconscious  _ twice  _ this week alone. He's screwed you over again and again, and he had the nerve to make fun of you, to my face. That's why I hit him, Dirk."

"Oh," Dirk says, seemingly at a loss. "Well... thanks."

Todd shrugs. 

"No problem."

"Alright, you two," Gilks says, striding through the front door. "I gave you–" she squints at her watch, "–seven minutes to regroup, I think that's sufficient."

"Sergeant Gilks," Dirk says, "you are a truly benevolent soul."

"Thank you, Gently," she says. "I don't like to brag, but I've taken the Met sensitivity training three times, and I once watched an episode of Dr Phil."

"Was the third time the charm?" Todd asks. Dirk laughs, and tries to turn it into a cough.

Gilks points at him sternly.

"You," she says, "I don't know that well."

"Sorry," Todd says.

"We have your mysterious delivery man outside," Gilks says, jerking her head at the doorway behind her. "He wants to talk to you."

"That's funny," Dirk says, folding his arms and moving closer to Todd, "he hasn't shown much inclination to talk to us up to now. He prefers to say it with homemade explosives, in my experience."

"He claims that this whole _ trying to kill you  _ business was a big misunderstanding," Gilks says.

"Seriously?" Todd asks.

Gilks shrugs.

"He won't talk to us, but he says he's willing to go on record if you come and speak to him. You don't have to of course–"

"No," Dirk sighs, "I suppose we really should."

"Chin up," Gilks says, stepping aside to let them go through the door. "He's cuffed, and we've already searched him for weapons."

"What a great day to be us," Todd mutters, following Dirk outside.

The delivery guy from before is standing next to Matthews, hands cuffed behind his back. Gary, Reg and Cathy are standing next to Matthews, shivering. Cathy is talking to another cop that Todd doesn't recognise. When she sees them, she gives a weak little wave. Todd nods at her, and Dirk waves back. 

As Dirk and Todd draw near, Matthews moves closer, placing a warning hand on the other man's shoulder. The guy doesn't react, but his eyes stay fixed on Dirk as they approach. Todd stands as close as possible behind Dirk's right shoulder and tries to look threatening.

"Hello," Dirk says, uncertainly. "I believe you wanted to speak to me."

"Yes," the man says. He stands a little straighter, but doesn't try to shrug Matthews' hand off. "I wanted to say, I'm sorry about your flat."

"Oh," Dirk says, glancing back at Todd in surprise. "Well... thanks. I don't suppose you're going to tell us  _ why  _ you tried to set us on fire."

"I didn't mean to."

"You didn't mean to throw a flaming bottle through my window?"

"I didn't mean to do it while you were  _ there _ . I followed you to Gary's house, and I saw him take you for lunch. I thought you'd be gone for ages."

"What, precisely, is  _ that _ supposed to mean?" Gary says, appearing at Todd's shoulder.

"You know exactly what I mean," the guy says. He aims a look in Gary's direction that threatens a scowl just as soon as he gathers the energy. "You're always on the lookout for a captive audience. I asked you for a light at Auntie Joan's birthday, and I couldn't get away for an hour."

"Wait," Todd says, looking at Gary. "You two know each other?"

"We're cousins," the guy says, and suddenly some things fall neatly into place.

"You're the guy," Todd says, pointing at him. "You're Bill! You're the guy who got kicked out after Dirk stole Steve's car!"

" _ What? _ " Dirk says.

"Gary asked me to create a distraction," Bill says, morosely. "I said I would. I made sure the cameras shorted out at just the right time. And then  _ I  _ got sent down, and this long winded weather balloon got to finish his Phd."

"If that's a crack about my hair–" Gary says, puffing himself up.

"Can't make a crack about what doesn't exist," Bill mutters.

"I'm sorry," Dirk says. "I didn't know."

"I didn't really blame you," Bill says. "It was Steve. He had a nasty habit of treating everyone around him like his henchmen, and I got tangled up with him one too many times. When he trashed your room, he paid me to get rid of the security footage, so he could claim he'd been burgled."

"Is that what was on the VHS tape you sent to the station?" Gilks asks.

"Yeah," Bill says. "I held on to it, just in case. I dunno if it will still work." He looks back at Dirk, who is blinking rapidly, looking lost. "I felt bad about your stuff getting stolen, but I was afraid to turn him in. That's why I told Gary I'd help him. It ended up coming back to bite me anyway."

"That's a very nice story of redemption," Gilks says, "but it doesn't absolve you of any of the criminal activities you were a party to–fifteen years ago, or last Thursday."

"Yes," Gary says, acidly, "and who are you calling  _ long-winded _ , William?"

"Gary," Dirk says. "Is now really the–"

"My chosen profession," Gary ploughs on, folding his arms, "requires me to reveal the ineffable whisperings of the cosmos to mankind, and condense them into 100 characters or less. I am perfectly capable of being succinct, when the occasion calls for it. However, I can see how a certain elegance of speech could be mistaken for verbosity by a man who only evolved past monosyllabic grunts so that he could more expediently communicate with the employees of the KFC drive through window."

"Right," Dirk says, "thank you, Gary. I think we can safely put any accusations of long-windedness to bed–"

"Listen, you pretentious, bird fiddling git," Bill says, and Todd sees Dirk bite his lip next to him, "don't get all high and mighty with me. I've seen  _ The Great Zaganza _ nine Bacardis deep, trying to tell people's fortunes outside a kebab shop at three in the morning."

"How  _ dare  _ you–"

"That's  _ enough _ !" Gilks says, loudly, and Gary and Bill both subside, sulkily.

"We've already spoken to Steve Mander about you," Gilks says. "He told us that he hid the diamond in his storage locker in Battersea. He also told us that the only person who knew about that storage space was his ex-fiancé Cathy Smith."

"But you knew about it too," Dirk says, elbowing past Gilks to look intently at Bill. "You'd been following Steve, waiting for a chance to get back at him. You knew that he'd taken the diamond from his and Phantom's safety deposit box, and you knew where he'd hidden it. You took the diamond, knowing Steve would think it was Cathy. He started to follow Cathy around, showed up at her work, tailed her to Dominique's house. At which point he noticed  _ I  _  was back in the country, and sicced Phantom on me, assuming I was somehow involved."

"And you saw what was happening," Todd says, stepping up next to Dirk, "and realised you could play everyone. You knew that Steve thought it was Dirk, and you saw your chance to get back at both of them at once. You’re not sorry about Dirk’s stuff at all. They  _ both  _ got you kicked out of college all those years ago. You sent Dirk that threatening note, and you delivered the guitar pick to his apartment, and then you threw that bottle through his window, knowing all signs would point to Steve and Phantom."

"I fooled you all too," Bill says, something that looks almost like a smile crossing his face. "All you posh Cambridge gits thought you were cleverer than me, but you never even noticed me."

"Well, we notice you now," Dirk says. "So tell us, Bill. What have you done with the Yellow Orthodontist?"

"Orionis," Todd, Gilks, and Matthews say in unison.

"Oh,  _ whatever  _ the bloody thing is called," Dirk says, impatiently. 

"I have no idea where it is," Bill says. "I never wanted the diamond. just wanted to get my own back."

"That's not going to work," Gilks says. "We know you went to Steve's storage unit. The security guard remembers a man matching your description lurking around outside. All we have to do is get the security footage and we'll have proof."

"I went there to get the guitar pick, so that I could frame Steve Mander. I didn't find any diamond."

"You're lying," Dirk says. 

Bill shoots him a nasty smile that looks like it’s been mouldering in a cupboard since 1993. "Prove it."

 

*

 

"Well," Gilks says, staring morosely into her cup of tea, "he's right. As of now, although we have enough to arrest him on multiple counts, we have no proof that he ever had the diamond in his possession."

They're back in Reg's rooms, having said goodbye to Cathy and a still seething Gary, and seen Bill and Steve packed off in separate police cars back to London. Reg, having laid out tea and cookies for everyone, informed Todd and Dirk there was a room made up for them upstairs and excused himself, on the grounds that at his age, he wouldn't miss a good night's sleep for anything less than a Biblical plague or a Fleetwood Mac reunion tour.

"He doesn't know how to use anything more modern than a rotary telephone," Dirk had muttered, "but he knows who Fleetwood Mac are."

"How do _ you  _ know who Fleetwood Mac are?" Todd said. Dirk shuddered.

"I came around here once when I was a student to borrow a book and found Reg dressed like Stevie Nicks, standing on an occasional table singing Sweet Little Lies. Some things, Todd, one never forgets."

The last half hour has passed in increasingly desperate theorising while the fire burned lower and lower and Todd tried to vigorously scrub the image of Reg in a floor length chiffon skirt from his mind.

"But it  _ was _ him," Dirk says for the thousandth time, staring into the fireplace. He's sitting in one of Reg's wingback chairs, his tie loosened, and his hair sticking up in all directions from all the times he's run his fingers through it in the last half hour. As Todd watches, he does it again.

"Well," Gilks says, "unless you can figure out where he's hidden it, we've got no proof."

"He might have thrown it in the Thames for all we know," Dirk says, gloomily. He slumps down further into his chair, his arms dangling dramatically over the sides. Todd resists the urge to smooth down his hair.

"I don't think so," he says, and Dirk's eyes flick up to his. "He might have been lying to us, but I believe one thing he said. He wasn't trying to get the diamond for himself. He doesn't _care_ about the diamond. This whole thing is about making you and Steve look like idiots. Something tells me he slipped up - put the diamond somewhere he thought you should know to look. Maybe somewhere here? In Cambridge?"

"Oh!" Dirk sits bolt upright, staring at Todd. "Of course! Todd, you're brilliant!"

"Thanks," Todd says, taking one of the shortbread cookies from the plate Reg left out. "Are you going to tell me why, or are we going to have to listen to a ten minute monologue about the universe first?"

"I  _ knew  _ you'd be the world's best partner," Dirk says, grinning at him. "The universe delivered you to me, wrapped in a grimy flannel bow."

"Gently," Gilks says, clasping her hands in her lap, "I am restraining myself with an almost superhuman effort from reaching for my belt. If you don't share your latest epiphany in the next ten seconds, I'm going to drop that restraint, and I'm not sure if I'm going to end up holding my handcuffs, my gun, or a bottle of extremely potent pepper spray called  _ Retina-B-Gone _ . I suggest you don't roll the dice on this one."

"Where would he hide it, for maximum pettiness?" Dirk says, turning his triumphant grin on her. "Somewhere we wouldn't think to look? A symbolic middle finger to Steve?"

"Okay," Gilks says, frowning at him. "I give up. Where?"

Dirk settles back in his chair, places his hands behind his head and says with great satisfaction,

"Todd, would you kindly show the sergeant what you've got in your trousers?"

There's a moment of silence in which Todd very determinedly does  _ not  _ turn his head to look at Gilks, and then Dirk's face undergoes a gradual transition from smug to horrified, like watching a slow motion avalanche.

"The box!" he yelps. "The box he sent us!"

"Oh!" Todd fumbles in the pocket of his jeans and pulls out the ring box that the guitar pick came in. Dirk immediately snatches it from his hand and hefts it, like he's feeling its weight.

"Does anyone have a knife, or a scissors?" he asks, holding his hand up distractedly. Gilks reaches into her jacket and produces a swiss army knife, handing it to him.

They all watch as Dirk opens the empty box and jams the knife down the side of the velvet lining, prising it out. there's a false bottom, and inside is a yellow gem, shaped like a teardrop. It's about the size of a grape, and it gleams in the dim light from the dying fire. Dirk turns the box upside down and shakes it, but it seems to be glued to the bottom to stop it rattling around. 

For a moment, there is absolute silence.

"Holy shit," Todd says.

"You  _ had  _ it," Gilks says, her voice strangled. "The  _ entire _ –"

"Sarge," Matthews says. "If you murder him, think of the paperwork."

Gilks closes her eyes, breathing deeply.

"That's it?" Dirk says, sounding disappointed. "This is what everyone has been fighting over? It's just a little yellow stone. Is it cursed, maybe?"

"No," Matthews says, "but it is worth thirty million pounds."

"Oh," Dirk says, squinting at it. "Well, I can't say I understand the appeal, although it is a very nice colour."

He reaches into the box to pull the diamond free and Gilks makes a noise like she’s just spotted a hapless puppy about to lick something it shouldn’t.

"Gently, maybe I should take that before you get your prints all over it and complicate this already ludicrous story even further," she says, holding out a ziploc bag. 

"Right," Dirk says, dropping the ring box into the bag. "Here you are, sergeant. All in a day's work, of course. Or several days' work, I suppose."

"Yes, thank you, Gently," she says, neatly pressing the top of the bag closed. "I'll be sure to note the invaluable assistance received from you, your boyfriend, and your astrologist."

"Good," Dirk says, "thanks." 

Gilks puts a hand over her eyes.

"I need to leave now," she says. "It hurts me physically to be near you."

"None taken," Dirk says. Gilks makes a sound that sounds like she's being strangled, but Dirk is already standing up and stretching, and doesn't seem to hear. 

"I think Todd and I could use a good night's sleep," he says, looking at Todd. "Have a safe trip back to London, Sergeant."

He jerks his head at Todd and strides out of the room.

Todd stumbles after him, and stops in the doorway to look back at Matthews and Gilks.

"Hey, thanks," he says, awkwardly. 

Matthews gives him a thumbs up. Gilks removes a hand from her face and waves vaguely in his direction. He shrugs and follows Dirk into the hall. 

They tramp up to Reg's guest room, and Dirk closes the door, leaning his back against it and closing his eyes. The room is softly lit and persistently floral patterned, from the walls to the soft quilts to the lampshades on either side of the sagging bed. Todd sits on the edge of the bed, staring straight ahead at the faded wallpaper. There's silence for a few moments, a tangible aura of exhaustion hanging over them both, when Dirk says, "It was in my pocket–" and Todd feels the laughter building up again, hysterical and unstoppable. He's pretty sure if he opens his mouth right now, he'll make a very undignified sound, so he just keeps staring straight ahead and says,

"Mmm."

"And then," Dirk says, "I gave it to you. And it was in your pocket."

"Mmm hmmm," Todd says. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dirk cross his arms, and then slowly raise one hand to his own face, pressing a finger to his lips.

"Todd," he says, seriously, "I'm starting to think that I am, in actual fact, an absolutely shit detective."

Todd cracks and dissolves into laughter, putting his head in his hands. The bed creaks and sags ominously as Dirk comes to sit next to him, and Todd leans into his side without thinking.

Dirk loops an arm around his back and says,

"I want you to know I feel very supported by you right now."

Todd laughs harder.

"You're not..." he stops, taking a deep breath and wiping his eyes. "You're not shit."

"Thank you, dear," Dirk says, "you say the sweetest things."

Todd turns and grins at him. "I do, though. Sometimes."

"Yes," Dirk murmurs, his eyes dancing. "You do."

 

*

 

Todd wakes up slowly, blinking at the sun streaming through the window. They must have forgotten to draw the curtains last night. For the third time this week, he looks blearily around an unfamiliar room, trying to remember where exactly he is. Right. He's in Cambridge. With Dirk. He rolls over, without dislodging Dirk's arm from his waist, and squints at his phone. 8:32am. He burrows back under the covers, and further into Dirk's warmth, tucking his head under Dirk's chin. 

Dirk makes a noise and pulls him closer, his hand creeping under Todd's shirt and lazily rubbing his back.

"What time is it?" he mutters into Todd's hair. 

"Eight thirty," Todd says. "We don't have to get up yet."

"Mmm," Dirk says, trailing his fingers up and down Todd's back. "Good."

Todd grins into Dirk's collarbone, rubbing his cheek against the soft shirt he's wearing.

"What is it with you and being all grabby in the mornings?" he says.

"I happen to think being well-rested is sexy," Dirk says. He still sounds half asleep, but his fingers are inching below the waistband of Todd's pyjamas. Todd laughs, and shuffles up the bed to kiss him.

Dirk's kisses are different when he's like this–less urgent, more slow and searching. He pulls Todd flush against him, kisses him soft and deep. Todd strains against him, trying to get impossibly closer.

"Hi," Dirk says, breathlessly, when he breaks away.

"Hi", Todd manages, clutching Dirk's waist. "Listen, if that  _ grabby _ thing sounded like a complaint, I just want to clarify–"

Dirk laughs, rolling them so he's leaning over Todd, propped up on one elbow with a hand resting on Todd's chest.

"Do you know," he says, grinning down at him, "that we successfully solved a case yesterday, and I don't believe we have anywhere at all to be for the next few hours?"

Todd looks up at Dirk, his eyes bright, mouth red, and his hair flopping over his forehead. He's easily the best thing he's ever seen.

"Shit, you're right," he says, going for mild surprise rather than inconvenient, overwhelming affection. "Anything in mind?"

"Well," Dirk says, "I thought we could conduct some  _ investigations _ –"

"No," Todd says, "nope. No detective themed pick up lines."

Dirk kisses his neck.

"Spoilsport."

"You knew that going in," Todd says, his voice hitching slightly as Dirk kisses his jaw.

"Mmm," Dirk says, rubbing his cheek against Todd's. "I suppose I did."

"Any regrets?" Todd says, because he's still himself, who is an expert at ruining nice moments.

Dirk pulls back to look him in the eye.

"Not a single one," he says, softly.

Then he pauses, tilts his head to the side, and says,

"Actually, now you mention it, I  _ was _ kind of hoping we'd get to keep the kitten."

"Of course you were," Todd says.

"What about you?" Dirk means the question seriously, but Todd can tell he's not worried about it the way he would have been a week ago. The thought that Dirk feels safe with him makes his heart swell. He smiles up at him.

"No," he says, "I'm good."

"Well," Dirk says, "in that case..."

He leans back down to kiss Todd's neck again, and Todd shivers, tangling their legs together as he tries to get closer–

"Dirk," a voice says, from outside the door, and Dirk starts away from Todd like he's been burned. "Would you and your young gentleman friend care for some breakfast?"

"Um, no," Dirk says, "no thanks, Reg! Or–maybe? We'll be–we'll come down in a second! Or a few! A few minutes!"

"Alright," Reg says, sounding amused. "I'm going to go downstairs and watch some very loud television. I'll leave some tea in the pot."

Dirk's head thunks down to land on Todd's collarbone. They both lie still as Reg's footfalls disappear down the stairs.

"Well," Todd says. "I feel weird about pretty much everything that just happened."

"Me too," Dirk says, lifting his head. His cheeks are pink. "I suppose we should get up."

"We could always share the shower," Todd suggests, his thumb still rubbing circles on Dirk's hip. He's reluctant to let go just yet.

"We'll end up crammed together under a trickle of lukewarm water in a ceramic tub that's been here since the last time Reg remodelled, just on the other side of the Industrial Revolution."

There's a moment of silence as they look at each other.

"So..." Todd says, "is that a no?"

Dirk considers it.

"No," he says. "I'm game."

He leaps out of the bed, standing in front of Todd in his vest, briefs, and one violet sock, and yells, "I'll race you!" before tearing out of the room.

Todd lies there for a second, grinning at the ceiling, then he grabs a towel from a nearby chair and follows him.

 

*

 

Gary texts them the next morning to tell them that Phantom is awake and recovering, so they make a trip to the hospital in Cambridge before they get the train back to London. When they get to Phantom's private hospital room, Gary is there. He's once again birdless, wearing a brightly coloured patchwork waistcoat with jeans and a purple shirt. 

"Dirk, Todd!" he rises from his chair on the other side of Phantom's bed, gesturing Dirk and Todd towards the other visitor chairs as if they've wandered into a party he's hosting. "How nice to see you."

"Hi, Gary," Dirk says, sitting down in one of the chairs, his jeans squeaking against the cracked pleather. "Hello, Phantom."

"Hi, Dirk," Phantom says, looking nervously at Todd. Dirk turns and raises his eyebrows meaningfully at him, somehow managing to communicate  _ don't agitate the gunshot victim  _ while hardly moving his face.

"How are you feeling?" Todd asks, politely. 

"Fine, thanks," Phantom says. He gathers his blankets up to his chest defensively. "The surgery went well. I'm sort of fucked up from all the painkillers, but I'm not in much pain."

"Good," Dirk says, "we're glad to hear it, aren't we Todd?"

"Yeah," Todd says, sitting in the chair next to Dirk's. He's not above feeling a little smug at Dirk's casual use of the word  _ we _ . "We're glad you're okay."

"It was good of you to come and visit," Phantom says. He looks up at Gary and adds, "All of you. I know I've caused everyone a lot of hassle with this whole business, and I just wanted to say... I'm sorry."

Dirk offers him a tiny, encouraging smile. Todd leans back in his chair and folds his arms.

"I told my parents everything," Phantom says. "They said they don't care about the money. They're just disappointed that I lied to them."

Todd swallows and sits up straighter. He sees Gary look at him curiously and avoids his gaze, looking at the sickly, mint green bedsheets.

"I don't know how long it will take them to forgive me," Phantom says, "but I've been lying to them for so long, it feels good just to be honest."

"You did the right thing," Todd says. Phantom looks at him, and then at Dirk, clearly suspicious. Todd knows without looking that Dirk is smiling at him.

They hang around for another half hour, Dirk and Gary mostly keeping the conversation going between them, but Todd hardly hears a word of it. When they get up to leave, Dirk presses Phantom's hand with his own, says it was good to see him, and puts his hand on Todd's elbow, ready to go. 

He looks surprised when Todd moves away, approaching the bed and holding his hand out. Phantom shakes it, still looking wary.

"Good luck, man," Todd says. 

Dirk takes his hand as they leave the room, and holds it the whole way out of the hospital.

 

"So," Gary says, as they step into the hospital parking lot. If he notices how relieved both Dirk and Todd are to be back out in the fresh air, he doesn't say anything. "You're off to America soon, I expect?"

"Tonight," Dirk confirms. "We just have a couple of things to in London first."

"Shame," Gary says, "I always have such an interesting run of horoscopes when you're in town on one of your cases. You're rather like my muse."

"Yes," Dirk says, "well I'm glad you've had an entertaining week, but it was a little harrowing on this end."

"What's going to happen to Bill?" Todd asks.

"I'm not sure," Gary says, frowning. " I will offer to help him pay for legal representation, but I don't know that he'll accept. He's never really liked me. By rights I should let him get what's coming to him. He did almost kill you both. But I can't simply ignore my own role in sending him down this path."

"Right," Todd says. "Well, he nearly set us on fire, but I hope he gets off easier than Steve."

"I'll raise a glass to that," Gary says, "as soon as ever I get home."

"Goodbye, Gary," Dirk says. "It was good to see you."

"It was good to see you too, Dirk." Gary smiles at them both. "And I'm glad to see you're in good hands. Take care of him, won't you Todd? He is liable to stumble into misfortune in the most unexpected of places."

"Yeah," Todd says, "I know. I'll be stumbling with him."

  
  


*

 

When they arrive at Dirk's old building, Mr Chakrabarti is letting himself out the front door. When he sees Dirk, his eyes somehow narrow and widen at the same time, giving the impression that he's just simultaneously discovered a pebble in his shoe and realised he left the oven on. Dirk doesn't seem to notice.

"Mr Chakrabarti!" he says, cheerfully. "Fancy meeting you here! Don't worry, it's a flying visit. I just wanted to speak to Dominique."

"Didn't I tell you what would happen if you came back here, Gently?"

"I think you said that I would be investigating my own murder," Dirk says. "But since that is a logistical impossibility, I assumed you were just, as my American friends would say, joshing."

"I have never said that word," Todd says, "and I do not know anyone who has."

Mr Chakrabarti clenches his fists briefly and stares into the distance like he's going to his own private happy place, where there is a conspicuous absence of holistic detectives. Todd surreptitiously takes a half step in front of Dirk in case he's about to get punched, which, okay, is probably his life now.

"Look," Dirk says, "we're flying back to America this afternoon and I will never darken your doorstep again, but I really need to see Dominique and Cathy before I go. I wouldn't feel right leaving the country without speaking to them."

Mr Chakrabarti re-focuses, looking at Dirk skeptically.

"You're leaving the country? For real this time?"

"I swear on the massive and expensive brass plaque I have already ordered for my new detective agency."

"Wait," Todd says, "what?"

"Hush, Todd," Dirk says, "we'll discuss it on the plane."

"Okay," Mr Chakrabarti says. "But if I see or hear anything unusual or explosive coming from inside, I'm calling the police."

He stomps off, clipping Todd with a surprisingly painful shoulder bump as he goes.

"Ow," Todd says, regaining his balance. "Okay, let's go before he changes his mind."

 

*

 

Dominique lets them in with only slightly less suspicion than Mr Chakrabarti. Todd gets the feeling that Cathy talked her into seeing them. She watches them with her arms folded disapprovingly as Cathy hugs both of them, and pointedly doesn’t offer them a seat.

“Dominique,” Dirk says, glancing back at Todd, who nods encouragingly. “I know that we’ve had our differences, and we could spend all day arguing over who stole Janice from whom–”

“Her name is Ariel,” Dominique mutters. Dirk makes his “I am too British to contradict you no matter how wrong you are” face, which he breaks out whenever Todd orders a banana flavoured milkshake.

“Putting that aside for the moment,” he says, opening his satchel and carefully taking out a large Tupperware container with holes punched in the top, “I’ve found you a new friend!”

Dominique’s eyes widen, and she moves forward, lifting the lid of the container to peer inside. The new fish is the same shade of vivid orange as Janice. 

“She is beautiful,” she says softly.

“We picked her out especially for you,” Dirk says, smiling at her hopefully.

“It took him an hour,” Todd adds. “He tried to  _ interview  _ the fish.”

“This one was by far the most responsive,” Dirk says. “I think she might even speak French. She has a continental sort of air to her, don’t you think?”

“I think you are ridiculous,” Dominique says, taking the container from Dirk. “But I love her. Please, sit down.”

Dirk and Todd sit on Dominique’s tasteful off-white couch, and she and Cathy take a couple of armchairs opposite. She holds the Tupperware tight in her lap, like she’s afraid Dirk’s going to change his mind and steal this one too.

“Nicely done,” Cathy says to them in a stage whisper. Dirk gives her a thumbs up.

“So,” Dominique says, “how is the man Nick? He is recovering?”

“Yes,” Dirk says, “he’s going to be fine, physically. I’m still not sure how much legal trouble he’s in, but he’s come clean and his parents have a battalion of lawyers, so I’m sure he’ll be alright.”

“I can’t believe you found the diamond,” Cathy says. “Where was it, all this time?”

Todd looks at Dirk expectantly, grinning.

"That's not important, " Dirk says dismissively. "The important thing is, Todd is my boyfriend now."

"Nice!" Cathy says, high-fiving Dirk with such force that he rocks back into Todd, who steadies him by the shoulders.

"Congratulations," Dominique says, smiling at them. "And thank you for the fish. I will name her Dirk, because she matches your jacket."

Dirk beams at her, still flexing his hand gingerly. 

"Thank you, Dominique. I'm honoured."

"Thank  _ you  _ Dirk," Cathy says. "You've got Steve out of my hair for good, which is a gift beyond price. And it was good to see you again."

"You too," Dirk says. "Good luck with your PhD. By the way, you never did tell me what you were studying."

"Homoerotic subtext in British detective novels," Cathy says promptly. "This week has been informative in more ways than one."

She winks at Todd, who buries his face in his hands.

"How exciting!" Dirk says. "If you write a novel inspired by us, be sure to send me a copy."

"You've already had a fish named after you," Cathy says, grinning. "Don't get greedy."

"Yeah," Todd says, removing his hands to roll his eyes at Dirk, "and you've already had one person call you their muse this week."

"You have to admit," Dirk says, lifting his chin like he's posing for an inspirational photo, "I'd make a rakish gentleman hero. And you could be my scrappy sidekick."

"Fantastic," Todd says. "By the way, I'm now on strike until you agree to never call me that again."

"You two," Dominique says, standing and carrying her fish carefully to the sink. "There is an old French expression which translates roughly to  _ get a bloody room _ . Perhaps you are familiar with it?"

"Excellent advice, Dominique," Dirk says, springing to his feet. "We do have one final stop to make."

 

*

 

After some inelegant but effective lock picking by Todd, they find themselves in Dirk's old apartment, now stripped bare of all of Dirk's jackets, dying plants, and empty pizza boxes. Dirk walks past the sagging bed with its dingy mattress and goes to stand at the window.

"You gonna miss this place?" Todd says, coming to stand behind him. He rests his hand on the small of Dirk's back.

"No," Dirk says, "I don't think so. It just... felt right to say goodbye."

"Well," Todd says, "in a way you're not moving far. Our building is right on the next page, remember?"

"Yes," Dirk says, softly. This seems to make him happy, smiling down at the canal outside. "The next page. I suppose so."

Todd threads his fingers through Dirk's, and then jumps when there's a loud cough from behind them.

"Gilks!" Dirk says, as they turn. "What are you doing here?" 

"Your old landlord phoned the police," Gilks says, grinning at him. "Wanted you escorted from the premises, the continent, and if possible, the planet."

"Traitor," Dirk mutters. "I didn't even blow anything up."

"Anyway, I felt it was my duty to make sure you get out of the country without anyone else getting shot, or set on fire."

"Technically," Dirk says, "nobody was set on fire, and if they had been, that bit wouldn't have been my fault."

"Also," she says, ignoring him, "I have something to give you."

She produces a plain white envelope from inside her jacket.

"What is it?" Dirk says, looking at it suspiciously. 

"It turns out, the Yellow Orionis was never technically the property of your friend Phantom's family. It went missing from an Indian palace in 1931. It's been returned to the museum in New Delhi, and they are extremely grateful. They would like to offer a generous reward." She closes her eyes briefly as if she's in pain and then says, "To Dirk Gently and Todd Brotzman."

"Oh," Dirk says, "that's nice!" He turns to Todd. "We can get a new microwave!"

Gilks' lips twitch slightly.

"You can get quite a few bloody microwaves, Gently," she says, handing him the envelope. Dirk opens it and his eyes practically bulge out of his head. 

"Blimey!" he says, faintly. 

Todd peers over his shoulder. 

"Holy  _ shit _ !"

"My thoughts exactly," Gilks says, hooking her thumbs in her belt loops and looking at Dirk sternly. "So I have your solemn word you're going to take this unexpected bounty and promptly fuck off?"

"My prompt fucking off is imminent," Dirk assures her. "Our flight is booked for tonight."

"Excellent," she says. "Well, before you go, I have one more surprise for you." She reaches into her seemingly bottomless pocket and produces another envelope. 

Dirk's eyes widen when he reads what's inside. 

"It's... a character reference?"

"Yes," Gilks says, "filthy, whopping lies, all of them. I wrote on there that you have a solid, reliable character. When I tried to type the word "punctual", sparks started flying out of the computer."

Dirk looks at her in wonder. "Why did you do this?"

She looks at him consideringly. "As much of a human disaster as you sometimes are, Gently, there are some cases that we never would have solved without you. I can't explain it, but there it is. Wherever you're off to next, you should be able to keep doing that. And if that means I get fewer cases involving secret passageways, or ghosts, or nefarious horses, so much the better."

"Thank you," Dirk says, clutching the letter to his chest. "I might have a chance of getting an investigator's license under my own name now. It was going to be a dreadful hassle otherwise."

He looks at Todd and grins, his eyes a little shiny. Todd smiles back.

"Thank you," Todd says, looking at Gilks. She nods at him and looks back to Dirk.

"All things considered, I suppose it wasn't completely terrible seeing you again, Gently." 

She holds her hand out. Dirk looks at it in surprise, like he thinks it might bite him. 

"Thank you, Sergeant Gilks," he says, shaking it gingerly.

After she leaves, Dirk sits down heavily on the end of the bed, and Todd sits next to him, their shoulders touching. Dirk is holding the cheque in one hand and the character reference in the other, looking between them in what seems to be sheer confusion.

"Todd," he says, without looking up.

"Yeah?" Todd says.

"This has really been a very odd holiday."

"With everything you've seen," Todd says, "everything we've been through together, and all the weird shit that happened to you before we even met, I'm kind of surprised this even rates on your "oddness" scale."

"It was the most bizarre week of my  _ life _ ," Dirk says. "Normally, when it comes to my cases, I'm just sort of incidental. This one... it got personal. Not to mention..." he trails off and glances at Todd, blushing a little. "Well. Other  _ developments  _ that I'm not entirely used to."

"So," Todd says, slowly, "what you're saying is, you're not used to being the main character... in your own life?"

Dirk turns to look at him thoughtfully.

"Yes," he says, "I suppose you could put it like that."

"Well," Todd says, "how does it feel to be the hero?"

Dirk laughs.

"I'm hardly that," he says. "Besides, you were the one defending my honour."

"Yeah well," Todd leans back on his hands. "Someone has to." 

His hand still hurts from hitting Steve, but it's a good ache. He'd pretty cheerfully do it again.

"Unbelievable," Dirk says. "Extraordinary. Todd Brotzman, knight in shining armour."

"Okay," Todd says, rolling his eyes and standing up, "that's enough of that."

Dirk catches his hand, the cheque he was holding fluttering to the ground. Todd turns around and lets himself be pulled closer, and Dirk leans forward and buries his face in his shirt. Todd, despite his previous intention to fake-sulk for another twenty minutes or so, finds himself relenting, one hand going to the back of Dirk's head, and another stroking between his shoulder blades.

"Have you thought any more about what I said?" he asks. Dirk makes an inquisitive sound into his shirt.

"About staying here? It's not too late, you know." Todd tries to sound casual, but he's not sure he pulls it off. He meant what he said in Cambridge–if Dirk wants to stay, Todd will stay. But he can't deny he's hoping for a scenario where he gets to have Dirk,  _ and _ have Amanda, Farah, and his parents within visiting distance. It might be selfish, but he can't help but hope that's what Dirk wants too.

Dirk leans back, his hands resting on Todd's waist. Todd lets his hands cup the back of Dirk's neck, looking down at him. Dirk looks very serious for a second, and then he smiles.

"No," he says. "I'm feeling very good about Seattle right now. I think it's the place to be. Besides, Amanda and I were thinking of starting a book club."

Todd laughs, trying not to look relieved. 

"You gonna invite the Rowdy 3?" he asks.

"You shouldn't make hasty judgements about people, Todd." Dirk admonishes. "I happen to know Gripps had a copy of Anne of Green Gables that he kept under his pillow at Blackwing, and I'm  _ pretty  _ sure Vogel has a comic book collection."

"Well," Todd says, "you can't host it at our place. I just got it fixed up from last time."

Dirk smiles wider.

"Do you know you keep doing that?" he says, softly.

"Doing what?"

"Calling it  _ our place. _ " he says. "Our apartment. Our bed."

Todd feels his face slowly turning red.

"Well," he mutters, "I mean, I know you don't... I know  _ we  _ don't..."

"It could be," Dirk says. "If you wanted."

"Did you just invite yourself to live in my apartment?" Todd asks, his throat suddenly dry.

"You invited yourself to live in my country," Dirk counters, and Todd laughs.

He looks down at Dirk, who is watching him patiently, and lets his thumb stroke the back of Dirk's neck. 

"Okay," he says, almost a whisper. "Okay, yeah."

"Great," Dirk says, smiling sunnily at him. "Sorted then. Seattle, not London, and one apartment, not two. And there's plenty of room for Janice."

"We should get going," Todd says. "We don't want to miss our flight."

"Alright," Dirk says, standing. "And don't be nervous about flying, Todd. I promise I'll keep talking to you the whole time."

"You know what?" Todd says fondly. "I believe you."

 

*

 

_ Epilogue _

Bringing a fish through an airport is a more tiresome process than Dirk would have predicted, and he's a little wary of Janice being placed in the luggage hold. However, the flight attendant assures him she'll be safe, and he'll get her back when they land. Todd places a comforting hand on his shoulder and finds him a restaurant in the departures lounge that sells truly excellent milkshakes.

"She'll be fine," Todd says for the fifth time, as Dirk picks unenthusiastically at his dinner.

"I would feel a lot better about this whole thing if you had just agreed to try my plan," Dirk says, as Todd hands his debit card to the waitress.

"Dirk," Todd says patiently, "For the final time, you cannot smuggle a fish onto an aeroplane by putting it in your ear."

The professional smile drops from the waitress' face, and she hurries away.

"Not with _that_ attitude," Dirk mutters, following Todd out of the restaurant.

"Come on," Todd says, "let's go get some tacky souvenirs for Farah and Amanda."

"Is there any other kind of airport souvenir?" Dirk asks, but he follows Todd into a W.H. Smith, and lets himself be guided towards a shelf of Union Jack festooned money boxes, phone cases, and biscuit tins.

"Point taken," Todd says, examining a plastic pencil case with the Queen's face all over it. "Not that you're the king of tasteful gifts under normal circumstances."

"I like that," Dirk huffs. "And after the size of the diamond I gave you, too!"

Todd turns slowly red, the flush creeping down his neck. Dirk grins and puts his hand on Todd's face to see if he can feel him blushing. It's just as miraculous as the first time he did it.

"Okay," Todd says, hitching his bag up on his shoulder. "Let's just take the phone cases. We have to go to the gate soon."

"Oh," Dirk says, "wait!"

He picks up a newspaper from the stand behind Todd.

"What are you doing?" Todd says.

"It's my last chance before I leave the country to check my horoscope!" Dirk flips through the pages, looking for Gary's column. Todd rolls his eyes.

"You know what? If the plane's gonna blow up, don't tell me."

A middle aged woman walking by gives him a severe look, and he turns red again. Dirk grins into the paper.

"I'm going to pay," Todd announces, stomping off. After a couple of steps, he turns around, stomps back, and leans up to kiss Dirk on the cheek. Then he turns again and stomps right back off.

Dirk is still smiling to himself when he finally manages to locate his horoscope for the day. It reads,

_ Virtually everything you decide today will be exactly right (enjoy it while it lasts) _ .

He puts the paper back and dashes after Todd. He can't wait to get home.

 


End file.
